


Electric Firefly

by dela26



Series: A Leopard Cannot Change Her Spots [2]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Dark Elle, F/M, Multi, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, The Company (Heroes) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dela26/pseuds/dela26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Company sets her teeth on edge, but most of the time it helps control the chaos, that darkness within her. Sequel to "Just Another Day on the Job." Elle-centric. Sylar/Elle. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story may not make perfect sense unless you've read my other story "Just Another Day on the Job", so check it out first! ;P Current storyline starts around Godsend of Volume 1, when Peter passes out and goes into a coma. Warning for psychotic, dark themes. Crazy Elle is the best. Reviews = love.

The Company sets her teeth on edge, but most of the time it helps control the chaos, that darkness within her.

Pretty Peter Petrelli. Her new assignment.

Elle runs her hands through his silky long hair, taking in his smell and essence. She trails her fingertip slowly and lightly from his forehead, over the slope of his nose, and memorizes the softness of his full lips. Peter is a special, an evolved human. His file indicates that he is an empath, mimics and duplicates the powers of others. She wonders just how many powers he's collected over the past few months since he's manifested.

The electrically charged agent takes considerable time to contemplate the similarities and differences that potentially exist between the angelic sleeping boy with her favorite power obsessed serial killer.

Elle has always been attracted to power. But looking at the pale man lying lifeless on the hospital bed beneath her, it's hard for Elle to consider him to be very dangerous. He doesn't look much like a predator.

Peter Petrelli wasn't like the other cases that Elle is used to. The petite blond agent has been involved in hundreds of bag and tag scenarios, occasionally dragging back the big bad specials kicking and screaming to the cold gray cells of Level 5, where they end up becoming her toys. Her latest mission is to locate Peter Petrelli and collect any compromising information that could ruin the Company. She's surprised to learn that she wasn't bringing him in. Strictly observation and reconnaissance. Under no circumstances is Elle to kill Peter. Apparently, Daddy strongly believes that Peter is the key to some diabolical inter-company scheme of some of the founders. Daddy whispers his suspicions that Angela and Linderman are still secretly following Adam's legacy, the one filled with apocalyptic destruction. Elle didn't jump on board the mission due to ethical or moral considerations. She could care less if Angela, Linderman, and Adam wanted to wash the world clean and push the restart button. The new mission is more about filling up her boredom, that nagging empty darkness in her chest. In addition, Elle needs to distract herself from the new and strange sensations of panging need that had developed from not getting what she wanted from the watchmaker. The bastard abandoned her just when she was about to claim him as her own. Elle's been antsy and on-edge from the lack of...release.

After Daddy handed her the file, Elle focused all of her energy into the assignment. Connected the dots, it was so easy. Nobody gives Elle the credit she deserves. She's got more brains than all of those silly little agents combined. Elle was able to follow the bread crumbs and located Peter within a few hours of getting assigned the mission. But she's not going to get answers outta him any time soon. The empath's mind has been MIA since she found him a few weeks ago.

Elle takes a sip of Slush-O, a glorious sugary substance. The caffeinated cherry flavored beverage helps her get through the twelve hour shifts at the hospital. Her fingers play with the multi-colored straw, a practiced habit. Elle savors the taste in her mouth as she concurrently releases a low voltage shock to the comatose man.

She giggles in a childish tone, "Whoops."

Peter's body jerks in response to the electrical blast and his heart rate increases for a few seconds. But there is no change to his state of consciousness. Elle watches with awe as the burns on his arms immediately knit back to its smooth perfection. A healer. Just like Adam. Those with regenerative abilities are so much more fun than the rest, they can take Elle's most deadly and destructive blasts. Elle briefly wonders just how much Peter can take before he passes out. She sighs inwardly to herself, wishing that her target was awake. Hard to get the attention she craves when the new toy is unconscious. His face is slack and peaceful, doesn't realize that a sociopath is touching him, occasionally pumping electricity into his body. She's trying oh-so-hard to be patient.

Elle was intrigued to learn that Peter went up against her favorite serial killer and lived. Peter was a hero, saved little miss Pom Pom, and aided Bennet and crew in capturing the big bad wolf. If it wasn't for the sleeping beauty beneath her, Elle would have never gotten to opportunity to meet Gabriel Gray. Sylar. She feels a strange sense of gratitude towards the youngest Petrelli boy. He unknowingly played matchmaker.

Elle straightens out Peter's white hospital gown and gives him a playful tap on the nose.

This mission is much more how she imagined undercover work to be like. A million times better than the other solo assignment spying on Claire Bear in the back of the classroom. This time, Elle gets to be up close and personal with her target. Has the chance to utilize her acting talents to the fullest and has fun playing dress up in the process. She has immersed herself into deep cover in the role of a sweet Southern nurse going by the alias Bella.

Elle is a great actress. She's a professional liar. Lies every time she smiles.

Elle catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She is sporting pink scrubs with little red hearts and colorful sunshines. A thick yellow ribbon is neatly tied in a bow, pulling her straight long hair into a side pony tail. Maybe one day she'll be filled with whatever emotions and experiences go with hearts, sunshines and ribbons. But Elle doubts it. She's come to accept that she is cold and empty inside. Besides, it's hard to miss and long for things that you've never experienced or fully comprehend.

Elle moves to thoughtfully inspect the monitors and updated charts, when the door suddenly swings opens.

"How's he doing?" The normally confident voice sounds tired.

Elle glances behind her, a southern accent flows easily out of her lips. "Oh, Mr. Petrelli. Peter is the same as he was yesterday, sugar."

"Please, call me Nathan, I insist. Mr. Petrelli was my father." Elle smiles at the older brother's request, flashing all of her pearly white teeth. If only he knew who his father truly was. The Petrelli boys were kept in the dark of their parents' history and connection with the Company. Elle considers the Petrelli story to be like those ridiculous soap operas of the rich and famous families that she's been entertaining herself with since she was a young girl.

"Awfully nice of you to spend so much time with your brother, especially with the election and all coming up. But, Mr. Petrelli- oh- Nathan…we're taking real good care of him. Like I told you before, we'll call when there is any progress… or updates on his condition."

"Thank you, Bella." His eyes linger over her body, appreciating the revealing cleavage, tight colorful uniform, and spiked red stilettos. Nathan may be in mourning over his brother's condition, but he is a man after all. Elle fights the internal urge to purr and bask in the warmth of the attention. She flashes a practiced expression on her face. An emotion that she picked up from television shows that seem to fit this particular social interaction. The day time soaps taught her at a very young age how to be human. Probably contributes to Elle's overly dramatic social reactions.

She moves painfully close to the oldest Petrelli brother and gently places her hand on his arm in an attempt to be comforting. Nathan nervously shifts his weight at the sudden closeness of their bodies. Elle doesn't pick up on the newly developed tension. Elle has never been really good at personal space or boundaries. Most interactions she has with others has an underlying sexual energy, whether she's consciously aware of it or not.

Elle opens her mouth to recite something comforting, but a cell phone cuts her off. The political hopeful opens up his phone and is drawn into a lengthy and heated conversation regarding his campaign. Elle moves back to care taking the younger brother and shoots Nathan a disapproving look at the noise he's creating, forcing him to excuse himself into the hallway.

The empath is unconsciously struggling with something again. Elle gently dabs a sponge across Peter's forehead, wiping away the sweat. Whispers soothing words in his ear in attempts to calm his on-going night terrors. She puts all of her energy into attending to her patient and surprises herself with her natural care taking abilities that seemingly came out of thin air. Elle didn't know she had it in her. She assumed that maternal instincts were not part of her innate makeup. Who knew a sociopath could be so…compassionate.

Elle wonders what will happen when Peter wakes up. Will he be grateful, shower her with attention and compliments of her amazing skills as a nurse and provider? Feed into her naracistic need of excessive admiration and further heighten her grandiose sense of self-importance.

Since he's supposed to be powerful, will he be an alpha, dominant? Or is he just like the rest, pathetic and weak? Either way, she's itching to break him.

Elle's essence shifts... like something clicked, the lights suddenly are turned on in psycho play land. She begins to fantasize what Peter's screams sound like. Elle's eyes glaze over. She's back into her own inner world, humming a strange tune while dark, violent thoughts fill her mind. Images of pain, burning flesh, and blood darkens her psyche. Fills her up and makes her feel .... alive.

The door swings open, interrupting her dark stream of consciousness. Elle whirls around, her seductive smile is wiped clean when her eyes connect with a familiar face.

Cerulean electricity unconsciously flashes from Elle's eyes.

"Oh, Mrs. Petrelli. Lovely to see you again." Her accent drawls out. Elle has never been a particular fan of the precog. Her instincts scream whenever in her presence, experiences a strange, strong sensation that she can't quite identify around the older evolved human. Makes her feel on-edge and paranoid... more than usual, anyways.

"Elle Bishop." The matriarch hisses. Her hard eyes flash to Elle's outfit. "You look like trash."

"Now, now. Nathan seems to appreciate the look. Everybody loves a sexy nurse." Elle's voice is playful. She suddenly moves close to her patient and begins to slowly stroke Peter's face gently with her hands. "And I'm sure once your baby boy wakes up, he will too."

"Stay away from my sons." Mrs. Petrelli voice is sharp as daggers.

"And what are you going to do about it?" Elle laughs, "Attack me with your pathetic dreams. Please. Don't waste my time with idle threats."

"Shouldn't you be off with the other agents, worrying about that serial killer that put Peter in this state?" The older woman tries another approach. "I'm surprised you aren't part of that important operation."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Petrelli. The Company has plenty of suits addressing the Sylar case." Elle smiles widely, though the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Elle knows that Angela Petrelli is trying to ruffle her feathers. And it's working. But Elle doesn't want to give the older woman the satisfaction, so she ignores the painful urge to blast her into smoke and ashes.

Elle's current assignment of watching over Peter Petrelli helps keep Sylar off of her mind…at least during the day. His brown eyes haunts her dreams.

"You don't have to worry about Peter, I'm watching over him." Angela insists, trying to play the mother. Elle doesn't trust Angela Petrelli one bit. The woman is notorious for lying, manipulation, and double crossing. Elle strongly believes that Mrs. Petrelli is somehow involved in the lengthy gaps in her memory, further heightening her mistrust and paranoia of the woman.

"We worry about anyone with abilities, Mrs. Petrelli. And don't even try that song and dance of how Peter hasn't manifested. No one has ever survived going up against Sylar. Peter is very special. And I'm taking real good care of him."

Angela growls at Elle. The petite blond agent ignores the older woman and begins to attend to Peter's IV.

Elle speaks with her back to the visitor, the body language indicates that she's not intimated or scared of the old hag. The accent has now vanished, her voice is dark and cold, reflecting her inner state of being. "Maybe you should go back to that big, comfy penthouse, Mrs. Petrelli. Take a nap and let us know if you dream of anything… significant."

The sound of the glass door slamming makes her lips twitch to a smile.

Elle studies pretty Peter Petrelli with such intensity. The beast inside her stirs with anticipation and excitement causing electricity to surge throughout her entire body. Elle begins to hum a strange tune while she twirls a long piece of Peter's hair between her perfectly manicured nails.

She sings to her patient. "You and me are going to have so much fun."


	2. Chapter 2

Following the tracks of a prey, especially in a big bustling place like New York City, is no easy task. Elle is involved in a never ending game of cat and mouse. But this little mouse doesn't even know that he is part of a dangerous game.

Sleeping beauty magically woke up, screaming in bloody terror. Not exactly how Elle imagined her patient to react when he came back to consciousness. Peter Petrelli had jetted out of the hospital room like a speeding bullet, ignoring the cries of his mother and the other hospital staff. Elle remained calm during the entire fiasco and managed to stay unnoticed in the background. Once his foot touched the concrete sidewalk outside of the hospital doors, the chase began.

Like any game, there exists rules. Elle likes rules, needs them even. Without rules, she would be…lost.

Rule number one: Under no circumstances, is Elle to kill Peter Petrelli.

Elle vividly remembers Daddy bluntly telling her that if Peter dies because she can't control herself, that Daddy may not be able to prevent the other founders from taking revenge. No slap on the hand for being a bad girl, then shoved into the cold cells of Level Five like when she usually misbehaves. They will put down the rabid beast. Death….there's no coming back from that one. Most people have a hard time dealing with death, but Elle is not most people. She isn't scared of anything. Death is death. Though Elle doesn't want to die on accord of someone else's plan, especially to someone as pathetic as Angela Petrelli. This little kitten is going to have to display some major self control and not tear apart the little mouse once he's beneath her sharp claws. Besides, Elle knows plenty of ways to play that doesn't involve her toy dying. Near-death, sure, but not dead dead.

Rule number two: The target must not know that he is being followed.

Being a purebred Company agent has allowed Elle to easily blend into the crowds, cloak herself in the shadows. Just like the other field agents, Elle has undergone intensive trainings and exercises at the Company. But unlike the other suits, her tracking abilities are far superior. She's just better than the rest. The internal beast is allowed to come out to the surface when she's tracking evolved humans. Stalking is the beginning process that usually ends with blood, pain, and death. Elle loves to stalk.

Rule number three: Gather information through observation of Peter and anyone that comes in contact with the target.

No detail can be overlooked, she collects everything into memory, and the ritual is intoxicating. Elle has efficiently categorized every conversation, every tiny observation involving Peter Petrelli into her mind. The hospital staff, Nathan, Mama Petrelli, and that on again off again girlfriend Simone were all examined very closely by watchful blue eyes. She could recite Peter's experiences over the past two weeks- from the smallest changes in his breathing to the data that was spat out on the ICU equipment. Elle's memory is impeccable. Well, at least the memories that are not wiped clean by a certain mute Haitian.

Rule number four: Do not make direct contact and disclose the current assignment with other Company agents.

Elle doesn't much like any of those silly busy bees anyways. The ordinaries, evolved humans, they are all beneath her. Even Bennet. She revels in the fact that her assignment is incredibly secret, special. No one else knows except for her and Daddy. And if Elle does accidentally come across another suit, she'll kill the disposable ones just for funsies…and with the suits that matter, well, Elle is a pathological liar. Though it's not like they would believe her real story anyways.

Rule number five: Report all activities and progress to Daddy.

Always checking in, like a good daughter and responsible agent. Like clockwork, she calls in right on the hour. The routine phone calls not only benefits Daddy, but Elle as well. The regular connection with Daddy- with the Company- allows Elle to feel more comfortable out in the confusing real world. Elle lacks the ability to fully comprehend social interactions and human emotions. This lack of insight into human nature makes her feel so alone. Powerless. Though Elle would never admit this out loud. The orderly check ins give the illusion of control. Reminders that when the job is done, she willingly returns to her own cage, her sanctuary from the outside world.

These rules are law, determine the order. And Elle needs order to balance the chaos.

Other than the five golden rules, Elle makes up the game as she goes. This is a game of skill and strategy that involves constant pursuit, near capture, and repeated escapes. In the present moment, it only seems as if there are two players. The agent and target. The cat and mouse.

Elle knows in the back of her mind that this game is much more complicated. The electrical agent and the empath are just small pieces of a larger game of chess. The bishop targets the pawn. More action is going on unknowingly around her, the larger endgame is distant and removed from her objective. Linderman, Angela, Bennet, Sylar, Peter, even Claire Bear. At this point it is hard to say who is who, the king, queen, knights, rooks, bishops, and pawns. And the bigger questions: who is controlling the pieces? And what happens at checkmate? Elle tries to ignore such things, instead focuses on the here and now.

And right here, right now, Elle is in the shadows observing her target. The silly little rabbit. Peter appears almost frantic, attempting to book a flight on the phone. The empath wants to escape, somewhere in Nevada. What is he running from?

Hidden in the shadows, she glides towards her target. Peter is so close, she can practically reach out and touch him. Brilliant blue eyes studies her target with such intensity, she's surprise that her gaze doesn't burn a hole in the back of his head. Elle's fingers itch to touch his skin…. to feel him thrashing in pain on the floor while pumping electricity into his body. The blonde agent licks her lips at the bloody and demented thought. The beast within her mind screams with pleasure.

Suddenly, Peter's form disappears from thin air, like magic. Elle's entire body freezes at the strange occurrence. After a few seconds, she narrows her eyes and growls to herself, "You've got to be kidding me."

Her psyche is flooded with racing thoughts of all of the possibilities. Peter is an empath. It is unclear which powers he has acquired and developed control over. Teleportation. Shapeshifting. Invisibility. Mind control. Shadow manipulation. Super human speed.

But more importantly: is the mouse on to her? Is her cover blown? Surely not.

Her eyes scan the crowd. The target is gone, probably blocks away by now. Elle rubs her temples slowly, counting down from five in her head. Takes in a deep breath and decides that she's going to take another approach. The petite blond hails a cab easily and slides across the leather seat of the car. She riffles through her purse and throws a piece of paper at the cab driver. Her voice is annoyed, impatient. "Take me to this address. Now."

The cab speeds through the city, dodging other cars and pedestrians. Elle is practically bouncing out of her seat with agitation. She's concentrating hard during the long drive on not blasting the driver, who's explaining with a thick accent some historical lesson of the neighborhood. Mustn't cause any unnecessary attention. After all, she is leading the solo, special, super secret mission. The driver drops off Elle in front of a large, rundown apartment building. He mumbles his gratitude when she flicks a large bill in his general direction.

For someone whose family is worth multi-millions, Peter sure lives like a poor man. Elle runs her hands over anything and everything as she explores the building. The old wooden stair rail, rough flaking eggshell walls, and the rusty copper door handle to apartment number four. Elle presses her ear against the door, eyes squint tight as she concentrates hard. The electrical agent smirks to herself. No one home. She uses her practiced skills with a bobby pin to easily pick the lock without even looking down. The door swings open with a loud thud to reveal a small and cramped studio apartment.

The blond agent moves around the apartment like she owns the place. Energy is radiating from her entire body. Her skin is glowing, almost ethereal. No need to waste concentration in containing her excitement in the privacy of the Petrelli boy's residence.

Perfectly manicured nails trail over the countertops, bookshelf, and old couch. Elle has to touch everything, the somatic sensation tingles the nerves throughout her body. It is as if the evolved human is unconsciously marking her scent all over the room, claiming her dominance throughout the prey's inhabitance.

Elle invites herself to curl up in Peter's small bed. Even on a twin mattress, the agent looks child-like small. She closes her eyes for a half second, her mind moves away from her mission….back to the watchmaker. Always the watchmaker. Her dark obsession.

But it's hard to daydream of her unrequited love when her senses are on overload. Peter Petrelli. The pillows smell like him, sweet and musky at the same time. The scent is faint, he hasn't been home since he's awakened. Her psyche refocuses on the mission, the watchmaker's chocolate brown eyes lurk in the shadows of her consciousness.

Elle moves on her stomach, her legs bouncing to an obtuse rhythm against the soft mattress. Polished red nails draw little imaginary scribbles across the framed picture on the night stand. Peter stands confident, a crooked smile lights up his face. The hopeful politician, Nathan Petrelli, is to the right of the empath, smiling but still looking serious at the same time. The power couple are embracing to the left of Peter, Angela and Arthur Petrelli are per usual picture perfect. A family portrait. Filled with lies, betrayal, and murder. The Petrelli story should be a made-for-television Lifetime movie. Poor Peter Petrelli. He tried to make a life for himself doing good, only to get sucked into the center of the mess his family created.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in alarm.

Something shifts in the room. Elle can't put her finger to what exactly has changed, but there is definitely an alteration in the energy of the apartment. Her fingers are burning with the need to release her electrical ability. She continues to inspect the picture with her eyes, but her other senses are on high alert.

Elle takes in a deep breath through her nose. A very strong scent, so potent it is almost burning her nostrils. Not Peter, someone new. She smiles softly to herself in anticipation before whirling around onto her back on the bed to strike the intruder. A strong electrical blast flows out of her hands towards the precise location of the mysterious evolved human. The room blazes brightly at the florescent blue sparks. The release of energy brings a bubbling laughter from her lips.

"Ah!" A voice cries out in agony. The form of a man materializes. He's slumped on the floor, smoke rising from his burnt clothing and skin. The man wipes his gloved hand across his mouth, cleaning the blood that he's coughing from the blast. Mmm, Elle wonders if she's hit him hard enough for internal bleeding.

"Nifty power. But useless 'cause I can smell you from a mile away." Elle scrunches her noise to demonstrate her distaste of the potent body odor. The older man has not showered for a long time. She sits up from her lying position and scoots her body to the end of the bed, legs dangling. Fingers form into a shape of a gun and the agent points the weapon towards her new prisoner. Her voice is formal, bored. "I was having such a wonderful evening, and then you showed up and ruined it. Identify yourself."

The man cocks his head to the side, his eyes hold intelligence. He takes considerable time to weigh his options. Finally, he sighs loudly and gives in. A very gruff voice with a British accent comes out of his lips. "You can call me Claude, deary."

"Well, well, well. The one and only Invisible Man. I've heard stories about you. Legendary. Though they made it seem that you "tumbled" to your death. So, unless you're a reanimated corpse…."

"You should know, everything isn't always what it seems." He slowly stands up, as if he doesn't want to provoke her. Elle smiles and thinks to herself that he's a fast learner. "You're the Bishop lass."

"Elle." She corrects, her voice suspicious. "And how do you know my name anyways?"

"I've been watching you, love, very closely. Ever since you were a wee little pup." His voice is playful, but there is some other emotion hidden beneath the act.

"Really?" Elle smirks, "I know there are some creeps at the company. But a peeping tom?"

Claude laughs as he walks into the kitchen and opens the fridge door. Turns his back on the tiger. Elle is impressed by his display of over-confidence, makes her think even more of the smelly hobo. The older man pulls out a beer bottle, opens the cap with his teeth. He makes a gesture with the bottle as an offer for Elle. She raises an eyebrow at the man and makes no move to acknowledge whether or not she wants the drink. Claude shrugs to himself and takes a swig of the cheap alcoholic beverage.

They stare at one another in silence. Silence for most people is uncomfortable. Neither one makes an attempt to fill the silence with nonsense small talk. Claude downs the first drink and begins to consume beer number two. The electrical agent is amused by the invisible man. Elle studies him closely. Suddenly, a thought forms clearly in her mind: he's not here because of her. Her voice holds certainty, "You've been with the Petrelli boy. Peter."

"Yes. And what of it?" His answer shocks Elle. Honesty. That is something Elle isn't used to. She assumed that she would need to do some electrical torture to get the information out of him. The sadistic agent feels a bit disappointed, torture is always so much fun.

"I'm surprised you didn't pick up on our conversation in the middle of the street earlier this evening." Claude smiles as he finishes his second beer. "I was hoping to find him here, instead I found you. Looks like we're both searching for him. What's your fancy with the runt?"

"He's been a bad, bad boy. And I've come to do a bit of spanking." She smiles widely at the Englishman, flashing her teeth like a predator.

"Sorry love, I can't have you do that."

"Well, you're going to be a problem then." The smile becomes even wider. She forms a ball of electricity between her hands, a warning. The man ignores her threat, seemingly unimpressed. The sparks loose their voltage, faltering at his abnormal reactions. He is indeed very strange.

"So, are you going to drag me back to the Company, lassie?"

"You're not my target, old man." Elle replies. "Petrelli is the key to a puzzle. The kind of game that ends with a lot of people dead. And I'm hear to stop it."

"Oh really? Never thought you were such a bleeding heart." Claude's face becomes serious. "The kid isn't so bad. Just needs a bit of guidance."

"Guidance?" Elle echoes with a mocking tone.

"He never had a very good teacher." Claude's voice is warm, softer. "Do you think you coulda controlled your powers all by yourself? Or do you blindly believe that 'Daddy' helped you out all these years?"

"What are you rambling on about?"

"Oh, they have really done a number on you, pup." Claude laughs. "You and me used to be all chummy mates. Coloring books and bed time stories. I have a few third degree burn scars as a reminder of your loss of control when you were still in pig tails. If it wasn't for me, you'd have been stuck in one of the small glass cages with a tube down your nose."

Elle narrows her eyes. "So….what? You were a teacher of some sorts? My teacher?"

"Correct, little grasshopper." Claude replies. "And I'm going to help the runt learn to control his abilities."

Elle realizes that she is not agitated or annoyed at the man during their entire conversation. A very rare thing indeed. Perhaps she did know him in another life. A life that was wiped from her consciousness. It wasn't like it was the first person to claim to have known her lately. First Sylar, now Claude….

"Fine." Elle crosses her arms. "You have twenty four hours. And just because you're invisible doesn't mean that I won't be watching. You try any tricks, I'll give you some more burns to add to your collection."

"Still so feisty. Like a little firecracker." Claude laughs full out. "I must be mad to put my trust in a Company agent again. But….we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."

"Mad indeed." Her voice is empty. Elle allows the darkness to briefly peak through the façade.

Like the Cheshire Cat, the evolved human turns most of his body invisible but leaves his smile visible for a moment before completely disappearing. The gesture seems oddly familiar.

Elle is not like most humans. Humans tend to rely on their sense of sight the most. Much like a large predatory cat, Elle has incredibly heightened sense of hearing and smell through both natural ability and rigorous training. Relies on these senses as she follows the Invisible Man out of the apartment in search of Boy Wonder.

The game just got more interesting. Elle enjoys a challenge.


	3. Chapter 3

Elle sighs inwardly to herself. The electrical Company agent feels the urge to massage her sore feet. She's been running around the city following Obi-Wan Kenobi and little Skywalker lockstep throughout their entire training fest. The femme fatale is in phenomenal physical shape, but running all day long on hard concrete floors and up and down flights of stairs in five inch stilettos is just plain killer. If it wasn't for their verbal agreement, Elle would have probably fried the Brit to ashes just for the fact that her expensive Italian leather heels are slightly scuffed from the wear and tear of the day.

At the current moment, the young operative is crouched down low on her hands and knees in the greenhouse on the roof of the Deveaux penthouse. She is peering through the foggy glass watching the empath learning the ways of the Jedi. A trickle of sweat is slowly running down her spine from holding the uncomfortable position for hours. Her normally pristine pin-striped suit is covered with dirt and grime, one of the unfortunate side effects of her hands-on undercover espionage. Elle postulates that James Bond probably never ruined his sexy suit while spying on a target.

Fantasies of a warm bubble bath and a very dead Peter Petrelli fill her head while she stares at the master teaching his protégé.

Elle can feel a headache forming. Very unattractive thermo-goggles tightly strapped to her head probably isn't helping the pressure building behind her eyes. Daddy had delivered the military eye wear earlier that day when she reported her that the Boy Scout is currently invisible. The handoff of the equipment was something out of a spy movie, the package had suddenly appeared in her hands on the crowded streets of New York City while in the middle of pursuing the invisible duo. Although Elle is fully confident in her heightened senses and tracking abilities, Daddy insisted on Elle utilizing the goggles to ensure that she does not lose the rabbit.

Birdwatcher fiddles with her specialized dork glasses. Electricity itches beneath her fingertips, demanding to be released. Flaring her bright power would both surely momentarily blind her with the sensitive thermo-goggles and alert the target. So the agent bites her bottom lip hard with the hope that the pain will distract from the need to release her vibrant sparks.

Claude has picked up on Elle's presence, she can see the slight changes in his shoulders when she creeps closer for a better view. The empath is clueless as usual. Maybe Claude can knock some common sense into the youngest Petrelli boy. After hours of careful observation, Elle has officially determined Peter to be an idiot. Such a shame, the empath has so much potential. He was like a lion that doesn't know how to use his deadly teeth and claws.

The only interesting thing that has happened over the last twelve hours is that Claude threw Boy Wonder off of the roof earlier that evening. The Invisible Man must have hoped that the empath would pull a Peter Pan move, but apparently the student lacked happy thoughts and fairy dust. The lesson forced Peter to call on one of his absorbed abilities of rapid cellular regeneration to heal the damages from falling multiple stories. Elle found the entire fiasco to be absolutely hilarious.

Right now, Elle wishes she could throw Peter off the building herself. Being forced to watch the empath spar with his mentor has been incredibly painful and boring. She would rather consume a "L" pill, a lethal cyanide capsule issued to intelligence operatives to commit suicide. Peter possesses pathetic fighting skills and lacks control of his abilities. Elle doesn't think very highly of the youngest Petrelli son. Her internal beast figures she could kill him in under one second with a flick of her wrist.

"Dig into that file cabinet of yours and pull something out. Fly, stop time, paint me a pretty picture. Do something unexpected." The Invisible Man taunts his student both verbally and physically.

Claude attempts to strike Peter with a wooden staff. Peter furrows his eyebrows in concentration and holds out his hand. The staff is violently pushed back with an invisible energy. The wood board snaps in half.

Elle's mouth drops open. Well…that was unexpected. Looks like the Force is strong with the young Jedi.

Both Peter and Claude look surprised. Claude exclaims, "You pushed that away with your mind. Which one of your sorry friends has telekinesis?"

"None of them do." Peter frowns. "Oh wait. That guy who was chasing Claire in Texas. He sent some lockers flying at me."

"Texas? And you pulled that little trick out in the here and now? Well, we might just have a chance of stopping you going nuclear."

The master and his apprentice continue talking, but Elle isn't listening to the words coming out of their mouths anymore.

Telekinesis. Peter absorbed Sylar's power during their confrontation at Homecoming. Just seeing her unrequited love's ability displayed by the empath floods Elle with tremendous longing. She's never wanted anything or anyone as much as she craves the watchmaker. Her devil danced with his demon and the fiddler's tune is far from over.

A blue bolt of electricity catches Elle's attention back to Peter and Claude. An electrical arch is flowing out from Peter's fingertips. Boy Wonder keeps pulling new tricks out of his cloak. Elle's eyes widen, her breathing has completely stopped. A strange sensation is surging throughout her body, filling her up to the point that her hands are violently shaking. If Elle had any emotional intelligence, she would be able to label the sensation as the emotions of fury and anger.

Peter Petrelli took the one thing that Elle loves most- her beautiful indigo sparks. And now, Elle wants to cut out his heart. A bit over-dramatic, but Elle has never been one to share.

"Woah!" Peter gasps. He brings his hands up to his face to inspect the electrical ability sparking from his fingertips.

Elle wants to storm over to the empath and wipe the grin off his face with her fist. Instead she balls her hands so hard that her fingernails are cutting into her palms, forming little half moons filled with blood. The immediate pain helps her to resist the urge to slug Peter. Elle wishes that this assignment was not purely surveillance, but rather a executive action mission....otherwise known as assassination.

"Not sure where that came from. I've never seen anyone do that before." The empath forms a shaky ball of electricity between his fingertips. The loud snaps of power makes him jump in surprise.

Claude glances briefly in the direction where Elle is hiding in the shadows. "Well, mate, perhaps you picked it up from someone you didn't realize had the power of electrical manipulation. There's plenty of mysterious specials running about the city. Let's take a break, shall we?"

Peter and Claude move to chat by the pigeon coop. Elle scrunches her noise at the thought of being around such filthy, diseased-filled creatures. Decides to keep her distance.

She's back in her head, visualizing all of the different ways she can overpower and kill the evolved human. Blood, pain, and death are what the sociopath knows and loves best.

Movement out of the corner of her eye interrupts the fantasy of ripping out Peter's throat with her bare hands. Snaps Elle back to the here-and-now.

The beast in her psyche screams with rage. Elle unconsciously bares her white teeth with a low, feral growl.

Bennet and the Haitian are crashing her party.

Her mind is over-flowing with racing questions. What are they doing here? Were they sent to spy on her? Does Daddy not trust her? Are they babysitting to make sure that she's following orders? Did Linderman pick up on her super, secret solo assignment? Are they here to drag her back to the Company? Is the Haitian going to try to wipe her mind clean again? How long have they been following her? How has she not noticed them until now?

Paranoia is like breathing to Elle. She has a pervasive, long-standing suspiciousness and mistrust of everyone. Particularly of Glasses and the Memory Thief. They do not share a squeaky clean history. Elle's very much aware that she has been exploited, harmed, deceived, and manipulated her entire life. Such experiences tend to make one extremely paranoid. And in turn, she exploits, harms, deceives, and manipulates the pawns that she can control. She would never admit to herself or anyone else that one of the reasons she's obsessed with inflicting pain and suffering on others is that it gives her a false sense of power and control within her powerless existence. The caged, battered beast deludes herself that she's still wild and free.

Her initial paranoid thoughts center around herself, as Elle is a narcissist and possesses an excessive sense of self-importance. It is not until she notices the agents strap on matching thermo-goggles that she realizes that Bennet and the Haitian are not here for her. They are targeting Peter and Claude. This is her assignment. And they are going to ruin all of the hard works she's put into her clandestine operation.

She's almost willing to break the five golden rules and emerge from the shadows. The Haitian is far away enough that Elle knows her powers are not dampened. She could easily knock out both agents with her sharp shooting.

But…lose control and lose it all.

Elle watches helplessly as Claude and Peter continue to be engage in their discussion, unaware of the looming danger. She knows what's going to happen. Normally she wouldn't care, but she feels a strange connection with the smelly Brit. Sure, she doesn't remember the coloring books, sing-a-longs, and ability training sessions. Though she still has an unconscious need to protect him, to yell out a warning. It takes an incredible amount of self control to maintain her position in silence.

It was like a terrible slow-motion sequence in a movie. The two agents take aim with their stun guns. Elle holds her breath as Noah Bennet releases the blast of his weapon. Claude and Peter jump in unison to the unexpected firing sound. Claude is hit first, the electricity of the taser shakes his body and forces him to the ground. The Haitian fires to shoot Peter, but the empath uses telekinesis to stop the two small dart-like electrodes in the air. Bennet and the Haitian move forward in attempt to take out the targets. But before they can get close enough, Boy Wonder throws Claude over his shoulder and jumps off the roof.

Elle watches as Peter soars through the sky with Claude on his back. Superman figured out how to fly just in the nick of time. Maybe she had judged Boy Wonder too soon, perhaps he isn't as pathetic and weak after all.

Bennet and the Haitian rush off of the rooftop. Elle rolls her eyes. Like they could really capture Boy Wonder. The empath is probably millions of miles away from New York City.

Elle has officially lost Peter. Another failed solo mission to add to her resume. Just peachy.

Perfectly manicured red nails tap over her cell phone to a panicky rhythm while Elle debates whether or not to make the call. Daddy is not going to be happy. Not one bit. Elle sighs loudly and jerks open the phone.

Her father answers on the first ring.

"Daddy?" Elle's voice is raw and pure.

"I already know." Bob Bishop's voice is harsh with the usual disappointed undertone.

"The plan has changed. My office at the Kirby Plaza building, 8 AM sharp. And Elle, don't be late."

Click.

Elle moves towards the edge of the Deveaux rooftop to observe the view of the city, blue eyes gone suddenly cold. There was nothing there, no expression, except that awful coldness. Emptiness. Elle mumbles into the dead phone, "Love you too."


	4. Chapter 4

Elle slams the heavy office door. Daddy wasn't happy. But he's never been very happy with her, for as long as Elle can remember anyways. She was always a disappointment. No matter how hard she tries, she would simply be a failure in his eyes. And yet, she always works for his approval knowing that she'll never get it. It was a hard habit that she couldn't break.

One psychiatrist postulated that perhaps deep down, Elle is unconsciously guilty about the electrical accident…the one that ended with Mommy's and Grandma's deaths. He explained that this underlying emotion of guilt forces Elle to continually seek approval from Daddy and most likely is a major contributor to her instability. Elle hadn't been too keen of the doctor's opinion and made sure that he knew exactly how she felt about his stupid, psychoanalysis interpretation. She had screamed into his ashes that maybe she is "unstable" because of all of the unnatural tests she underwent as a child, having her memories constantly wiped clean, or simply the electricity fucking up her neurological wiring. And maybe she's trying to win Daddy over, not because she feels guilty, but because it fills up her time and satisfies her boredom, that nagging emptiness.

Elle leans up against the office door and begins to inspect her nails. Her normally pristine and polished nails are damaged and dirty. Dainty fingers with unusually chipped nails mindlessly straightens out her light gray dress back to its smooth perfection. After the recent undercover work, she is going to have to get a new manicure. Easy to fix…unlike her performance on the job. Although Daddy is disappointed, he didn't immediately pull her off the case. Which means that this assignment is incredibly important. During her meeting with Daddy this morning, Elle learned that Kirby Plaza is where the shit is going to go down. The Brat Pack is supposed to meet in the public square later this afternoon. At least that's what the precogs on Daddy's team have pointed to. The various fortune tellers are having conflicting visions of the future events, but each ending includes a big, glorious bang. Elle is going to have to redeem herself by gathering information from spying on Boy Scout and his new friends. Daddy needs to know what diabolical plans Angela and Linderman have up their sleeves and Elle is going to fetch that knowledge and bring it back to him like a good agent, a good daughter. Maybe then she can acquire Daddy's love and approval. But Elle knows that it's doubtful.

Elle pushes her body off the door and begins to stalk down the hallway. Her black shiny stilettos clank sharply on the tile floor, creating an eerie rhythm. The electrical agent turns the corner and is greeted by an unexpected surprise.

Sylar.

Elle completely freezes at the sight of the serial killer. Her mouth unconsciously drops open in reaction to this random and spontaneous occurrence.

They both stay motionless, staring at one another in silence for a number of long heartbeats.

Although Elle appears to be calm and stoic on the outside, she is anything but within. Scientists say that the brain chemistry of infatuation and lust is akin to mental illness- which gives new meaning to "madly in love." The pleasure center of her brain structures light up, releasing dopamine and a number of different endorphins, creating a heightened sense of awareness, intense energy, exhilaration, and focused attention. A million thoughts flood her psyche, incoherent cognitions and images of blood, pain, and sex run fast, repeating, overlapping and swirling together. Not only is there a rapid firing of activity in her neurochemistry and racing thoughts, Elle's special ability is sparking and circulating throughout her entire core, buzzing in excitement. The increase in excitement… with the combination of her internal predatory beast anticipating a fight-or-flight situation, cause Elle's pupils to dilate so large that her eyes appear completely black.

"I found you." The watchmaker growls triumphantly, breaking the silence. His words echo down the hallway. The sound of his deep, powerful voice makes things low in Elle's abdomen tighten in pleasure.

Elle cocks her head to her side, bangs sweeping over her eyes.

She licks her lips and purrs, "What took you so long?"

The waiting made up her existence. A life of always watching him, but never touching. Elle had pondered for countless hours what the world is like on the other side of the mirror. And now, to her surprise and pure delight, she is able to pass through the looking glass.

Before Elle can take a breath in, Sylar is suddenly inches in front of her. His scent hits her like a battering ram, forces her to close her eyes. He smells powerful…musky with a hit of vanilla mixed with exotic spices. The effect of simply his natural scent makes her feel intoxicated, like he's putting a spell on her.

Elle's eyes snap open as the watchmaker roughly grabs her by the waist with his large hands and violently slams her against the wall. Elle hits her head so hard she can almost see stars around the edges of her vision. Sylar's lips form into a smile as his hands tighten their grip, digging into her stomach. Elle stays still and passive as she allows him to repeatedly hit her over and over against the wall. Her petite body is bruised and broken underneath his powerful hands. Goosebumps spread across her arms.

The sadistic blond has historically been the dominatrix, savoring the pain and screams of her victims. But the new sensations of being the one powerless and in a subordinate position is unbelievably exhilarating. Electricity surges throughout her system in anticipation of the continuous blows. Her energy is humming softly and playfully against the watchmaker's skin, urging him to continue. His aggression makes her nipples harden.

Elle has always prided herself on being an outsider, the lone wolf... but now... Elle has the chance to finally connect with someone. Connect on a level that most people could never understand. A unity formed on pain and blood and pure chaos. Her beast finally found an equal, a mate, who is just as psychotic and twisted and dark. The beating fills her up with pleasure, temporarily pacifying that hollow numbness in her chest. The watchmaker makes her feel alive, human.

Elle's breathing is fast, hard, and building up to something more.

Sylar continues to throw her against the wall like a rag doll. Over and over again until Elle is confident that she has a concussion. Elle's existence has been a strange balance of pleasure and pain, and right now she is welcoming both. She smiles silently and takes the beating obediently. Elle is a control freak, and right now she let's go of all of her careful control, making her vulnerable and open. It was like willingly walking through a minefield blindfolded. Elle finally feels completely and utterly free.

The experience is orgasmic. The sensation catches Elle in surprise, a burst that bows her spine and makes her cry out. It washes over her in a skin-shifting, nerve-jumping dance as if every part of her were trying to leave every other part behind. For a shining second, Elle feels skinless, boneless, nothing but the warm roll of pleasure and pain.

Sylar releases her suddenly and she comes crashing down onto the shiny floor. Warm, thick blood slowly drips down her face. Elle can feel the internal beast's pleasure from the afterglow like a line of warmth throughout her body. A shudder runs from her toes to head, and her satisfied breath falls out in a long sigh.

Laughter bubbles out of her lips from the pure bliss. Her usual playful, childish giggles are always forced, make-believe. But this is different. This is an uncontrollable… authentic experience. It is a loud, full throat laughter that hurts her stomach. Smile lines form around her eyes for the first time.

Sylar violently lifts her up by her throat and silences the sound with his mouth. Full lips kiss her rough and fast. His mouth searches her as if he were climbing inside. The serial killer throws his weight against her, successfully trapping her against the wall. Elle lifts her legs up and straddles his body, feels him hard and ready even through his pants. The sensation makes her bite down hard on his bottom lip. The taste of metallic blood fills her mouth, bringing a low rumble from her throat. The beast comes full surface.

Sylar jerks his head back and touches his bleeding lip tenderly with his tongue.

Blue eyes interlock with brown. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. Elle searches Sylar's eyes, expecting to see that familiar darkness. That psychotic beast that she has obsessed over the last few weeks.

But something isn't right. All she sees are chocolate orbs, perfect replications. A perfect lie.

The lucid dream is shattered.

Elle pushes the imposter hard on the chest with an intense surge of electricity.

She screams wordlessly as she burns the image of her desire to smoke and ashes.

The body disappears like magic.

"What's the matter, baby? Too aggressive?" Sylar laughs from behind her, but it is not the same sound that Elle has fantasized over and over in her mind.

Elle whirls around, curls her lips back and hisses, "Candice."

The illusion of Sylar crosses his arms and wiggles his nose, like a genie.

Sylar's form shifts to that of the brunette special in commando boots and a short pleated skirt. Candice is always validating Elle's inherent mistrust of others. Elle thinks that she should be upset, even feel violated, but she's not.

"Don't act like you didn't enjoy it." Candice smiles as she closes the distance between them.

"Is this how you get action, by pretending to be someone? You are pathetic." Elle growls, electricity leaking out of her eyes.

Candice doesn't react the way that Elle had expected. Instead, the illusionist's face is suddenly raw. She's staring at Elle's lips, eyes filled with desire.

"Come on, Elle. Don't you see, I'm just like you…we're the same."

Elle raises an eyebrow at the illusionist's comment.

"Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental." Elle replies coldly. "If I had a Psychos-R-Us store, I wouldn't let you in. 'Cause in the end, behind the lies and pretty illusions of a ruthless killer, all you really are is a bitter, fat cow who nobody loves."

Candice jerks back as if Elle had slapped her. She narrows her eyes, "You know, when you actually come face to face with him, he'd probably fuck you and then rip your head open. Maybe at the same time. Especially after everything you've done and all. But considering how sick you are, I bet you'd like it."

Elle responds with no emotion, "Perhaps."

"Sociopathic, nymphomaniac, sadomasochist freak," Candice screams, loosing control.

Candice throws her hands over her eyes and takes in a breath. When she calms herself down, her lips form into an evil smile, "How about another game? Something more familiar…"

Candice disappears. The hallway shifts into a familiar gray, concrete room. Level five. Elle turns around to find a young child in pig trails and a white dress.

"Please. Make the pain stop." The young girl begs, blue eyes wide and scared. "Please, help me."

Electricity begins to leak from out of the child's eyes, spilling across every inch of her body. The room shines bright with blue sparks.

"I can't control it. It hurts. I wanna to go home." The child screams in agony, "Daddy is going to be so mad."

A group of scientists run into the room and strap the child into a chair.

One of the doctors replies as he prepares a needle, "Don't worry honey, this is going to make it all better."

Candice is recreating one of Elle's childhood traumas that was erased from her memory.

Elle watches the scene and doesn't feel a thing. Nothing at all.

Elle yells, "You're wasting your time with the pretty illusions."

Candice's voice whispers throughout the room. "I can make you experience things that will make you tear your own eyes out."

The younger version of Elle disappears, to be replaced by something out of the painting The Garden of Earthly Delights. Most sane people would probably go insane with Candice's projections. Elle is surrounded by images of naked bodies being ripped apart by demonic, dark creatures. The stuff of nightmares.

Is this Candice's idea of scaring Elle? Poor Candice forgets who she is dealing with. The images before her merely match Elle's internal state of being. Chaos.

"Pallor tricks. You should consider performing at birthday parties." Elle jeers.

Elle stalks the room filled with blood, dying victims, and devils. Although she can't see Candice, she knows that the magician is nearby. One of the limitations of manipulating how others perceive reality is that you have to be in a certain proximately of the victim. For most people, having one's senses distorted makes it difficult to find a target. But Elle is not most people. She closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath, and calms her body and mind until she has come to perfect clarity.

Like a snake, Elle's hand snaps forward with liquid speed and grabs Candice by the throat. The illusionist's form reappears while the images of hell fade. She can't maintain the special effects with the intense physical pain. Elle wants to squeeze tight, needs to hear the sound of her windpipe breaking in half. Candice's eyes are wide, her face turning an interesting shade of purple.

The electrical agent knows that the illusionist is the new pet favorite of Linderman. And Elle can't be pissing off the head of the Company, drawing attention to herself and her super secret mission. Elle releases Candice's throat, the woman falls to the floor, coughing hard.

Candice flashes a defiant smile at Elle. She shifts into the body of a tall, slender blond woman with hard eyes. "As much as this has been fun…I actually have work to do."

Candice turns on her heels and flees the scene without looking back.

"Consuming five cheeseburgers doesn't constitute as work!" Elle yells down the hallway.

Elle rubs her temples, a headache forming underneath the skin. She wonders to herself just how mad Daddy and Linderman would be if she turns the illusionist into ashes for real.


	5. Chapter 5

Kirby Plaza isn't a particularly special square in New York City. Simply a large open space where suits take their cigarette breaks, mothers with their fat babies go to rest their tired feet, and the homeless beg for spare change. Nothing out of the ordinary. Little did the unsuspecting humans know that this is the hot spot where the shit is gonna hit the fan. The fortune tellers predict a big, glorious boom that will kill millions. People will talk about Kirby Plaza in the same tone as Ground Zero. Elle figures that within the next twenty four hours, Kirby Plaza will no longer be insignificant but rather will be remembered by everyone forever. That is, unless she can stop the bomb.

Elle normally has no problem with death and destruction. She's always ready for a fun-filled day in Murderworld. Elle is really good at killing. One might say it's her specialty.

She daydreams of the smell of burning flesh, the sound of terror and pain. Elle could not care less if a couple of the company founders want to go all apocalyptic and wash the world clean. The sociopath secretly wishes that she was on the other side of the playing field….to be a part of the big boom project would be so much more fun. But, her assignment is to prevent it from happening. And Elle is a good agent, likes to follow orders. The mission helps keep her in check. Controlled. And, this specific task aids in taking the watchmaker off of her mind…most of the time anyways.

Eyes the color of pale blue spring skies watch the noisy crowd. Busy little bees buzzing around, moving mindlessly through the motion of their short, pointless lives.

Being in such an open space makes Elle uncomfortable. She is hyperaware of everything and everyone around her. The shifting current of faceless humans moving in such a fast pace gives her a headache. Spending time at Kirby Plaza for most of the afternoon is like Elle's own personal hell. She can't keep track of them all. And this lack of control, lack of power, makes her on edge. She wants to crawl back into her room…her own special cage at the Company. That claustrophobically small, clinically white, and pristinely clean personal space is safe. The Company, her room, the prisoner cells… these are places in which she can be in complete control, easily manipulating her environment and toys. Here, everything is so… unpredictable.

Elle leans as close as she can against one of the cool and smooth columns of the building that houses the corporate offices of the Company. Her perfectly planned location allows her to be a part of the crowd but separate at the same time. She mindlessly fiddles with her big Jackie-O black sun glasses. Elle is attempting to blend in, not draw any attention to herself. But it's hard to completely hide and dull down stunning natural features under neutral clothing and large glasses. The useless black suits cautiously glance up at her as they move with the river of people. Elle resists the urge to growl at them. Mustn't scare the locals or draw any more attention to herself. She's supposed to be incognito after all.

Elle's right foot taps to a fiery rhythm on the dirty payment. The gesture reveals her ice thin patience as she waits for the Brat Pack to make their scheduled appearance.

And just as predicted, the group of very special individuals come into line of Elle's peripheral vision.

Officer Chubs. The telepath is present. Elle knows that she is going to have to be extremely mindful of her thoughts and dark stream of consciousness. She will need to think and speak in code from this point on. The thick boned cop is the bastard son of one of the founders of the Company - the Mastermind. The papa of Officer Chubs is more powerful and dangerous than the Illusionist, even more than the Haitian. He can tamper not only with your senses and erase your mind blank, but he additionally has the ability put thoughts and delusions permanently into your head. Elle is positive that she has been manipulated by him, though she doesn't have any evidence…hard to figure out which thoughts and memories are yours and which ones are implanted. Elle hardly thinks it is out of line that she is extremely paranoid. Elle is not a fan the Mastermind and thus she holds disgust and wariness at the sight of the special's telepathic baby boy.

Blondie. After a month of baby sitting little miss Pom Pom, Elle wants to punch her in the face. She loathes that Blondie has a family, a mommy and daddy that love her. The agent despises that the indestructible girl has the perfect little life filled with happy memories of cheerleading, unicorns, and rainbows. Elle would never admit out loud to herself or to others that she is jealous. Elle openly hates the tween. Not the burning hatred of a normal person, but the cold hate of a sociopath. Cold hate never dies, never wavers. The beast fantasies clawing out her eyes… but Elle figures that the immortal will probably just grow new ones. At least that's what happened with good ol' Adam Monroe.

Glasses. Elle has the uncontrollable urge to rip him into tiny shreds and then dance and spit all over his grave. Elle has a nasty history with the dangerous Company Man. He's such a Y-Chromosome cliché. Glasses will do anything to get the job done, but more importantly he will sacrifice everything, even another's life, in order to save his little cub. Elle watches as Glasses brings the cheerleader close into his arms, a expression on his face that is foreign to Elle. Daddy never looks at Elle like the way Glasses cherishes his adopted special. Although he holds his daughter in a close bear hug, Elle can tell that he is scanning the square. He is the only one of the group wary of the open space… so close to one of the Company's offices, what a silly meeting place, really. Elle cloaks herself in the shadows to hide from Glasses' trained eyes.

Boom Boom. His presence here surprises Elle. She thought he would never leave the side of his dying wife. Guess this means that the cancer ate her up. Poor Sparky. The nuclear special looks more like a lumber jack than someone who can explode at any moment. Elle and Glasses had bagged and tagged the scruffy bearded man over a year back. She was surprised that the higher ups only wanted to mark him instead of locking him up in a nice leaded room on Level Five. At this distance, Elle figures she could sharp shoot him, fry his brain so that he can't go boom. Elle could be the one that saves the day. Unfortunately, Daddy only wants her to observe, gather information. After studying Boom Boom, all Elle can hear is the soft ticking of a time bomb whispering in her mind. T minus twenty four hours 'til D-day. And all Elle can do is watch. Awesome.

Boy Scout. The youngest Petrelli is such a disappointment. Elle had assumed that because he's a power sponge, he would be big and bad and dangerous. It was so unfair that such an unworthy individual would have one of the most powerful abilities that she has ever come across. He can do what Elle can do, stole her beautiful blue sparks without even knowing it. And now being a part of the Brat Pack, the empath is a mind reader, bullet proof, and…. nuclear. Fuck. The game just got more complicated.

Elle speed dials. The phone picks up on the other line and Elle files her report like a good Company agent.

"Did you know that they turn the lights off of the Eiffel Tower at midnight? Yes…Sure thing Daddy. I love sight seeing."

She clicks her phone shut. Elle loves speaking in code.

Without warning, Elle's stomach tightens with alarm. Her natural response is so powerful that she has to fight the instinctive urge to throw her body onto the floor. Her mind, body, and beast is focused on one simply, essential thing: survival.

He is here. The watchmaker. Elle knows it for sure. She has not evidence of this, doesn't see him or pick up his presence with her other senses, but her predatory instincts are never wrong. Her breathing quickens, pupils dilate. A natural adrenaline rush. Her body is ready to fight… or flight…or fuck.

With the knowledge that the watchmaker is somewhere in the crowd, it is now incredibly difficult to focus on the Brat Pack and complete her assignment.

Elle's eyes glaze over. She fixates on the memories of the watchmaker's angry eyes, the ghost smile peaking along the edge of his full lips, and the broken bodies he created just for her. She can almost taste him. Elle fantasizes that watchmaker is right behind her, breathing softly across her neck. The hairs on her body stand on alarm and her nipples harden at the thought of him so close. And then, suddenly, without any control, his name echoes loudly within her mind.

Sylar.

Both Matt Parkman and Peter Petrelli's heads lift in unison in response to her thought.

Elle's eyes widen. Fucking telepaths. She immediately imagines a brick wall. It is a trick that she has trained herself to do in the face of mind readers. Four by four, red wall in a white void. Focuses every ounce of her attention and energy towards that imaginary wall. Her body trembles ever so slightly as she concentrates, shuts her eyes to block out the eternal stimuli and to focus her mind. Clears the rapid stream of consciousness that is usually overflowing with dark psychotic images and thoughts. She reluctantly cleanses her fixation of the watchmaker from her psyche. She only has attention for one, simple thing. Red. Brick. Wall. She becomes empty of thoughts, emotions, and desires. Her body is now a shell of a white, static nothingness. The emptiness stretching inside this lovely little woman, the void…is the most frightening thing.

Elle controls the beast, but she can feel it stirring underneath her skin, annoyed at the repression of her desires. Time ticks by, seconds stretch a life time. Her internal chaos finally screams, reawakening the mind of the sociopath. Elle's eyes and consciousness focus back to reality.

The agent scans the scene. Just as she expected, the Brat Pack has vanished. Peachy. The crowd is still moving in a strange rhythm like waves in the ocean. Everything seems like it should.

But, there is a nagging sensation in her chest. Something is terribly…off.

Elle lifts her fingers painfully slow towards her shoulders until they wrap around her blond curls. Her fingers jerk back at the unnatural sharp coldness. Ice frosts the tips of her hair.

Did Elle suspect that someone was hunting her? No. There was one trait of the serial killer that Elle shared: arrogance. The predator never expects to be hunted.

The watchmaker left his mark. He discovered Elle when she was at her most vulnerable state. Probably could have slit open her skull without Elle even noticing. Is the ice a playful gesture… or a warning? Elle is not certain what all of this means.

Killing Elle understands. Relationships, particularly with another psychopath, confuse her.


	6. Chapter 6

Elle is a sociopath.

Or at least that's what diagnosis the doctors keep pointing to. Though they use such pretty, professional, politically correct terms these days. Specifically, Antisocial Personality Disorder. The words roll off your tongue like candy. "Antisocial" sounds as if she has problems playing well with others. Which, in fact, is true. Elle Bishop does not play well with others. Though the disorder is much more complex than just issues with social abilities.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, a nice big gray book that is the psychiatrist's bible, require that the essential feature of Antisocial Personality Disorder is a pervasive pattern of disregard for, and violation of, the rights of others that begins in childhood or early adolescence and continues into adulthood. This pattern is indicated by the following criteria (of which Elle meets all of them):

1) Failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors as indicated by repeatedly performing acts that are grounds for arrest. Such acts as stealing, aggravated assault, robbery, arson, grand auto theft, and *gasp!* murder. Check, check, and triple check. It's not like she can't follow all rules per se. She listens to Daddy, most of the time. She only really obeys the orders that she can bend towards her benefit.

2) Deceitfulness, as indicated by repeated lying (pretty much every word that comes out of her mouth are lies), use of aliases (what was that name she used recently? ah, yes, Bella, the sexy Southern nurse), or conning others for personal profit or pleasure (her favorite game). Every smile is a lie. Elle is a wonderful actress, so good in fact that every once in awhile she deludes herself into believing the deception. Sometimes, she wonders what life would be like without all of the deceit, illusions. But lying to a sociopath is like breathing, she doesn't know how else to survive.

3) Impulsivity or failure to plan ahead. Sure, she would spend hours planning a mission, but if she wanted a cherry Slush-O, by god, she would snatch it up from a starving child in Africa without a second thought. Elle is ruled by her needs and desires, she acts on immediate gratification rather than thought. Some of her more ruthless behaviors are out of impulse. Killing, for instance, serves to momentarily relieve that nagging itch in her core. Sometimes the killing is precisely planned, but the majority of the time it's more like a natural reflex, it just happens.

4) Irritability and aggressiveness, as indicated by repeated physical fights or assaults. Elle is chronically irritated or annoyed at everyone and everything. External factors, like the silly black suits at the Company or bouncy Pom Pom, could easily cause a headache and ruin her day. Elle's natural aggressive nature, her dark beast, find enjoyment out of attacking others. She loves the smell of burning flesh, watches in awe when the skin peels back in pretty third degree burns.

5) Reckless disregard for safety of self or others. Like fast driving, really fast driving with extremely expensive stolen cars. Or going after crazy big bad specials with her guns (and sparks) blazing. Elle puts herself in the line of danger, but it's just part of her job description. Plus, if anything really went to shit on a mission, they would just pump her full of Adam's special blood. She's died a hundred times and they keep bringing her back. Like a modern day god. Or the energizer bunny.

6) Consistent irresponsibility, as indicated by repeated failure to sustain consistent work behavior or honor financial obligations. Elle doesn't consider herself to be irresponsible, or a failure. But Daddy seems to think so. And likes to remind her, over and over and over. His disappointment is a broken record.

7) Lack of remorse, as indicated by being indifferent to or rationalizing having hurt, mistreated or stolen from another. It's hard to really, truly feel bad for someone when Elle can't feel anything at all. Elle lacks the capacity to empathize with the emotional experiences of others since she doesn't have her own personal experiences to use as a guide.

In addition to the above criteria, individuals with Antisocial Personality Disorder frequently lack empathy and tend to be callous, cynical, and contemptuous of the feelings, rights, and sufferings of others. They have an inflated and arrogant self-appraisal and may be excessively opinionated, self-assured, and cocky (Elle meets criteria for Narcissistic Personality Disorder as well). They may display superficial charm (which isn't her fault really, she learned most of her social behaviors from watching soap operas as a child). These individuals may also be irresponsible and exploitative in their sexual relationships and may never sustain a monogamous relationship (no one is worth it... but perhaps the watchmaker, if he doesn't rip her throat out first). They may be irresponsible as parents (babies gross her out and are extremely irritating). Those with Antisocial Personality Disorder manipulate to gain power-- and Elle's existence is all about power.

As for the causes of Antisocial Personality Disorder, there is much debate. What is known is that there is a genetic component, it tends to run in families (Elle can't really remember Mommy, and Daddy is too squeaky clean, but maybe someone in her family tree had a big bad secret). Biological risk factors for developing Antisocial Personality Disorder indicates that the part of the brain that is primarily responsible for learning from one's mistakes and for responding to sad and fearful facial expressions (the amygdala) tends to be smaller and respond less robustly to the happy, sad, or fearful facial expressions of others and that lack of response may have something to do with the lack of empathy that antisocial individuals tend to have with the feelings, rights, and suffering of others. Plus, Elle's got a fuck load of internal electricity messing up the neurochemistry and wiring of her brain which may have impacted these particular brain structures and functioning. Child abuse or neglect (check), unstable or erratic parenting (check), or inconsistent parental discipline (check) increases the likelihood that Conduct Disorder (aka the kiddy version of a sociopath in which little blond girls burn cats or prisoners for funsies) evolves into Antisocial Personality Disorder. Traumas may influence the development and course of Antisocial Personality Disorder, and if Elle ever experienced a trauma, it's not like she could remember it anyway (a trauma in itself really).

One in one hundred women have Antisocial Personality Disorder. Most of them get caught and then thrown into a small white padded cell or strapped to the electric chair. But Elle's different, special even among the most special. She's rewarded for her condition, it allows her to be the best Company girl. Besides, if they ever strapped her to an electric chair, she would either short circuit the machine or get a power boost from the attempted jolt-o-death.

Elle used to envision gathering all of the diagnostic books, throwing them into a large pile, towering high in the air, and rolling around in the paper manuals. Using her special ability, she would spark the paper, covering the books with brilliant, hot flames as she burned with them. Elle always figured that this diagnosis is going to be the death of her anyways. Might as well go out with one glorious act of rebellion.

Many years ago, the Company founders had a meeting to discuss the fate of Elle Bishop. Some had come in with detailed reports and evaluations that the little electric child is dangerous, an uncontrollable special that needed to be executed. No slap on the hand, no solitary confinement for eternity. For most of the meeting, it was assumed that Elle would not see her nineth birthday. But after a lengthy and heated debate, it was decided that they were going to try to tame her. Channel her dark nature to be used for the good of the Company.

Elle became a Company girl. Sure, it wasn't an easy, overnight process. It had taken a lot of time, sweat, and blood to shape her into one of the best agents on staff.

Sometimes the Company set her teeth on edge, but most of the time it controls the chaos. That darkness within her.

After years of intensive therapy, nothing really changed. You couldn't kill the monster. It is always there, behind her eyes.

Elle knows that everyone is dark deep down when you scrape the skin away. Even the most squeaky clean, soccer moms and upstanding law abiding citizens are filled with dark fantasies and psychotic thoughts. Inside their heads, everyone hunts, everyone kills, everyone is a monster. Elle simply embraces her darkness.

Elle watches the sea of people like a hungry lion. Her impulses, desires want to play. The dark mind fantasies the stuff of nightmares. All she wants is an unlimited supply of victims to burn into blackened husks of ashes. Blood, torture, and death. Just fun and games in psycho-playland, all in her head...sometimes a reality, god she wishes it was always a reality. She wonders how many she can kill before anyone notices. But instead, and to her disappointment, she sips her cherry Slush-O through the multicolored straw. The cold, sugary substance is the one thing that she finds can momentarily satisfy her psychotic urges.

Business men in black suits, women in designer clothing, and smiling children fill the square. Elle studies the humans with such intensity, considers each of them thoughtfully and without any emotion. Elle doesn't really believe in other people. They were just amusing things, toys. Not real, not like she was real. She had killed countless times without blinking because she had wanted to do it. It was pleasant, amusing.

No one could make Elle remorseful, sympathetic to other people, especially towards her victims. No one could make her feel things she had no capacity to feel. Her emotions were a great roaring silence.

Besides, they were just humans. Elle curls her lips back in disgust at the thought of the weak, pathetic species. Elle had gotten bored with killing normals. Too easy. Dangerous evolved humans, specials, are her victim of choice. The scarier the better. The hunt, and occasionally the kill, is a sociopath's dreamland. She should be satisfied, happy even. But instead, she has that nagging, uncomfortable numbness. The torture, pain, and death fills up her time, make her feel almost alive. Almost.

Elle briefly wonders what it would be like to not be so dead inside.

A world with a happy Daddy and a very alive Mommy and filled with sunshine, rainbows, and real smiles.

Elle rolls her eyes at the twisted thought.

She sips on the plastic straw as the icy drink fills her mouth, savors the experience. Elle takes considerable time to slowly lick the juice from the multicolored straw. She is determined to suck out every last drop. Freud would postulate that Elle has an oral fixation. Something that has to do with unconscious desires and not getting her infantile needs met. A child who is neglected or underfed as an infant may become orally dependent, obsessed with achieving oral stimulation of which they were deprived, learning to manipulate others to fulfill their needs rather than maturing to independence. Maybe she wasn't breast fed, but plenty of children grow up to be happy, normal people without sucking on their mothers' tits. Elle can't remember her childhood. Years of her life have been reduced to a black, burning hole thanks to the mute Haitian.

The straw stays locked between her lips. She knows that she'll end up chewing it to pieces, eventually spitting out the plastic bits to the floor out of habit until nothing remains. And then, she'll have to A.) find another Slush-O, or B.) kill somebody. Elle hums a strange tune to herself as she contemplates which option she should follow in order to occupy the rest of her evening.

Nothing over the last hour has really changed in Kirby Plaza. Elle shifts her petite body in the hard, metal chair, eyes slowly roaming over the moving crowd as she begins to move her attention to upcoming events.

How do you stop an exploding man?

Elle never really got the whole superhero thing. But lately, it does seem that she has a lot in common with them. Tragic beginnings…secret identities… part human, part mutant. Elle fights crime. Polices the other specials and locks up the big, bad ones. And right now, she's part of something much bigger. The Big Boom Project. Can Elle be the superhero that her Daddy, that the Company needs?

The phone vibrates against her thigh. The annoying buzz makes her want to evaporate the mechanical device into smoke and dust. Instead, Elle flips the cell open and obediently answers.

"Hi Daddy." Elle's voice is bouncy and playful, representing the exact opposite of her internal state.

"Has the group resurfaced?" Her father inquires.

Elle bites her lip. God, she would do unthinkable things to have another Slush-O at this moment since she's almost done with her current drink. Her voice is steady, cool. "No sign the past hour. I don't think I should be searching for Team Special." Her voice becomes soft, almost a whisper. "It's the serial killer. Sylar is involved in all of this. I know it."

Upon mention of his name, Elle unconsciously lifts her hand to touch a very specific piece of her hair. The tips of of her blond curls are cold, sending tingling sensations in her fingers. The ice has melted, but the cold wetness still lingers. Elle is both impressed and intrigued that Sylar was able to get so close without her noticing.

"You need to focus on your part of the assignment, Elle." Irritation is apparent in Daddy's voice, something Elle has come to expect from him. "We've received new information. You need to be at Manhattan Hospital at midnight. I'll be waiting for you there."

The last bit of information throws Elle off. Daddy's never been on one of her assignments in the flesh. What does this mean? Is he going to be at the hospital to ensure that she is going to follow orders? Does he not trust her? Or, is she finally going to work side by side with her Daddy. A father-daughter special duo. Her body tingles in excitement at the idea. Elle is going to make Daddy so proud.

And yet…being at the hospital means that she's going to miss the big boom extravaganza.

"But Daddy, I should be at Kirby Plaza. I will figure it out, I can stop the bomb, and---" Elle begins to whine.

Daddy interrupts, his voice angry and scolding. "Elle. Peter is the key. And we're going to apprehend him at the hospital. Stop getting distracted. Besides, Candice has been assigned to take care of Sylar in the upcoming events. I need you to do your job. Midnight, Manhattan Hospital, and Elle, don't be late."

"But Daddy--"

"Elle, if you fail me again, large or small, there will be consequences." The phone clicks dead before Elle can open her mouth to respond.

Sticks and stones will break your bones, but failure will get you killed.

The beast screams a high and wordless sound, echoing within her dark, psychotic consciousness. Elle stands up and violently throws the plastic drink to the ground. Red Slush-O splatters across the concrete, reminding the sociopath of blood. Sticky, sweet blood.

The fucking illusionist gets to go after Sylar?!?!

There's finally an emotion that Elle doesn't have to fake. Today, she feels something real.

Jealously.

It itches throughout her core. Making her uncomfortable and irritated. Elle can't identify the emotion, she lacks the emotional intelligence and vocabulary. But knows that she doesn't like this new sensation that she's experiencing. The sociopath is so used to the numbness and emptiness, the flood of jealousy is enough to bring the beast out and slaughter all of the unsuspecting humans around her.

Instead, Elle looks at her watch, attempting to focus her mind and beast on the mission. Channel that psychotic darkness to be a good agent, a good Company girl. The mechanical device reveals that Elle has five hours before she needs to get to the hospital. Five hours all to herself. It was more…freedom than she's used to. Normally, Elle has her entire day planned out. Every hour, minute, second is ordered and controlled. Five hours seems like a lifetime. And such unstructured time to an organized sociopath is…unnerving.

Elle brainstorms all the different ways in which she can manage her time. The only thing that would be worth while (and wouldn't cause unwanted attention) would be acquiring another Slush-O. Maybe two. Or three. The ritualistic consumption of the caffeinated beverages is the only thing that is mildly pleasurable (nothing really compares to the satisfaction of torture or killing). Sadly, Elle knows that such an activity involving cherry flavored slushed ice will not keep her occupied for over five hours, maybe three, but definitely not five. Elle needs to use her time more…efficiently.

"Peter Petrelli my ass." She growls to herself. And then an unusual thought hits her like a battering ram: Elle is fully capable of engaging in impromptu reconnaissance work, she can create her own orders and missions. Elle can use her energy towards solving the Big Boom Project, this time without the blessing of Daddy. Once she proves herself, she imagines Daddy beaming with pride at her accomplishments. That, or at least he can promote her.

Unfortunately, Elle has lost Peter Petrelli and the Brat Pack. Fucking telepaths forced her to allow Team Special to slip through her claws. Under normal conditions, she is confident that she wouldn't have lost them, Elle is a superior tracker. It's going to be harder to figure out the mystery if she doesn't have any leads to follow. Daddy is sure that Peter Petrelli is the key.... but Elle has an alternative perspective. She glances back down to her black leather watch and her mind returns to him. The watchmaker. Always the watchmaker.

How can a sociopath find a psychopathic serial killer?

The thought sounds like an opening line for a very bad joke.

Sylar is power obsessed. Surely, the watchmaker is going to kill someone soon, eat the brain and steal a shiny new ability. If Elle is able to find him in the act, she'll be able to stop the bomb. But who will he stalk? There are so many specials that are located within New York City. Hundreds that she's bag and tagged over the last few years. Thousands more out there. And what ability will be best before the Big Boom extravaganza?

Fortune telling. The visions of the fortune tellers have influenced all of Daddy's orders, directly impacting Elle's recent activities. If Sylar had the ability to see the future, he would be able to anticipate the moves of his enemies, determine the best course of action for his advantage. Precognitive ability is a rare talent. Mama Petrelli, who dreams of future events, is well protected being one of the Company founders. The handful of precogs on Level Five are in lock down, forced to record all of their ever-changing and usually conflicting visions in their small cells. The only other special in the area that has the ability to foresee the future through paintings is the heroin addict Isaac Mendez.

Elle internally purrs, satisfied that she's the best agent there is. So much smarter and more talented than all of those silly suits combined. Elle's narcissism truly believes that she is a vital part of this chess game, where checkmate may or may not end with a big boom depending on who wins. And right now, she feels as if she is the one in control, aware of the complexities of entire game and confident that she can figure out the winning move.

Elle smiles a wide, predatory grin to herself. After sparking the precog, maybe she will have time left to paint a pretty picture before saving the day.


	7. Chapter 7

Elle crouches painfully low to the ground beside the shiny metal door. The femme fatale has the urge to brush off the dust and grime on her newly acquired designer black suit. One of the unfortunate realities of hands-on espionage is that it is nothing like how it is in the movies, the hero always gets dirty in real life. She ignores her growing irritation and instead cautiously presses her left ear against the cool metal door, listening carefully for any indication of a very dangerous special looming within. Silence so thick, it was deafening.

The agent closes her eyes gently, takes in a deep and slow breath, and brings her heart rate to a slow and steady pulse. Centers herself, focusing all of her internal darkness and electrical energy to be quiet, the calm before the storm.

With liquid speed and strength, she kicks the door in hard and barges into the precog's studio, blue sparks blazing hot and ready to sharpshoot her target. She stands in the middle of the entry way, both arms out in front of her, fingers shaped into guns with a dangerous current of energy snapping loud and bright. Icy blue predatory eyes slowly and expertly scan the room for any sign of danger.

Unfortunately, no one is home. Elle had hoped to catch the serial killer in the act, finally have the opportunity to have him under her claws...and maybe stop the bomb in the process. The electrical agent sighs in irritation and brings the deadly weapons to her sides, the intensity of the power wattage decreasing to a soft, vibrating hum.

The smell of dried blood, decaying blood, is thick on her tongue. Once she smelled it, she had to see it. The floor of the studio is dark with blood. Pools of it everywhere. No matter how much blood you see in a movie or on television, it's never enough. There is so much blood in a human body, and the floor is thick with it. The pool of the metallic fluids looks like some sort of black lake frozen there on the concrete floor.

Her eyes follow the trail of blood to its source.

Isaac Mendez, painter, fortune teller, and junkie, lies dead in his studio. His eyes are wide, glazed, and unseeing. Mouth open in a silent scream. Blood is splashed across the man's face, drops of it delicately scattered across his body.

The head is ripped open, brain missing. Violent, very violent, and very quick. The signature of the watchmaker.

Elle glides silently through the studio, something that requires immense skill in five inch leather stilettos. She kneels and bends in close to the body, unfazed by the blood, gore, and stench of the dead. There is still a faint rank smell where the painter's bowels had let go either during torture or the moment of death. It was pretty common. Death is the last intimate thing we ever do.

She inspects the corpse without any emotion, looking for clues like a good detective, a good Company girl.

An expert in death and destruction, Elle guesses that good old Isaac has been dead for about twenty four hours.

Large, thick paint brushes are staked through the wrists and feet, efficiently trapping the special to the floor. How twisted and pathetic, to have his own precious tools of his special ability turned into torture devices and chains of his death. Isaac Mendez looked so weak and powerless, spread eagle with the wooden stakes through his appendages allowing him to be in a perfect position if you wanted to steal, or eat, the brain.

Elle imagines Sylar tearing his head open with his special ability, can hear the skull being sawed and sound of the victim wailing in terror and pain. Wonders what the last words, or more importantly last visions, the dead precog had. Elle is fresh outta luck and left her Ouija Board and chicken bones at home. Another special agent does owe her a favor, maybe she can get him to reanimate the corpse to find out if the heroin addict can paint her a pretty picture that tells her how to stop the bomb. Zombies, and spirits, and ghosts, oh my! Elle's seen stranger things.

Red nails slowly and seductively move across Isaac's face, starting from the bottom of his scruffy chin, exploring the curves of dry lips, and memorizing the feel of the muscles and bones under the dead flesh. The victim's skin is a strange shade of blue and cool to the touch, the texture slightly plastic-y. The blood is thick and smooth in contrast to the roughness of his face. Deep red drops are splattered across his face that form a morbidly beautiful design. His dark hair is thick and greasy, wet with blood. Elle's finger moves to trail over the edges of exposed scull. Jerks her hand back in surprise at the unexpected and sudden pain. The ivory bone is sharp as a knife, she accidentally sliced open her own flesh. Elle brings her bloody finger to her lips, sucks on the wound reverently, and the taste of her own coppery fluid, mixed with a hint of death, fills her mouth.

Elle wonders if Sylar would have let her watch or maybe even join in the fun. The body sliced and diced, then burnt to a crisp. She sighs a loud and frustrated sound, disappointed that she missed the show. But guesses that most likely the watchmaker would be unable to stop the serial killing once the start button is turned on. And then they'd have an old fashioned shoot off like in those silly old Western movies. Except it would be much more interesting, sparks versus telekinesis. Elle's pretty confident that she possesses the superior weapon. She's never lost a battle thus far anyways.

Behind the smells of death, blood, and decay, the agent picks up on a hint of his scent. A musky smell mixed with a dash of vanilla and strange, exotic spices. Elle has an abnormally acute sense of smell, which makes her an exceptional blood hound. She takes in a long, slow breath through her nose, filling her chest and body with a little part of her favorite prisoner. She is hyper-aware of the tingling sensations throughout her body in response to savoring his scent, particularly the stir of excitement in her stomach and the growing warmth between her legs. The scent is still strong and vibrant, Sylar has been in the studio recently. She's only just missed him by minutes. Electricity surges between her fingertips with the anticipation that maybe he'll be back and they will finally get to have the chance to play…

Elle cocks her head to the side as cold blue eyes notice the bright colors on the floor, beneath the body and the blood. The agent hasn't had a chance to observe her surroundings, her mind immediately honed in to the death and destruction and the serial killer. A large mural is painted on the ground. New York City skyline. Not just any ordinary image of the city, this one has a beautiful mushroom cloud, the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. Elle stares down at the image without terror or fear or any emotion really, it was simply a pretty picture to her. Elle is not stopping the bomb out of compassion or moral obligation, but simply because Daddy told her that it was important, made it her assignment, and that's enough for Elle. The heroin addict had visions of the apocalypse. Maybe he can provide Elle with the clues she needs to win this complex chess game.

Elle's attention slides to a large painting hanging on display above the body. She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow in response to the image of a very dead Pom Pom and the watchmaker looming over the body. Elle slowly stands and moves close to the painting, inspecting it with such intensity as her red nails trail slowly over the red paint. Blood. So much blood. Her internal beast purrs with excitement. Elle definitely would not mourn the loss of the unbreakable teen, she's spent hours fantasying all of the different ways to pull the plug on Little Miss Perfect. All of her dark day dreams end with the teen's face exploding into an unrecognizable mess. But, didn't Glasses and Boy Wonder stop Sylar? And if so, does that mean that the future is not set in stone?

Next to the image of the dead immortal are a variety of images. A close up of Claire-Bear, Elle can practically smell the fear of the pathetic child. The cheerleader running away, the shadow of the serial killer following in her footsteps. Two Japanese men stand beneath a blood soaked Homecoming sign. The images come together like a story. Elle is already growing bored of the pictures centering around Pom Pom.

Her interest moves to a destroyed painting on the floor next to the body. Elle picks the pieces up and brings them together to reveal an image of good old Peter Petelli, calmly flying through the air with a peaceful smile. The canvas is sliced not by knives or other sharp objects. Elle knows weapons, and this particular damage is done via telekinesis. Sylar has cut up the image of Peter Petrelli. But why?

The smell of fresh, wet paint attracts the attention of the blond agent. Sharp stilettos clank sharply on the concrete floor until she's standing in front of a half completed canvas. The colors and style of this particular painting is different than the rest. It reminds her of the works by the Impressionist artist Monet, except more rushed and messy and unskilled. The painting reveals two men about to battle in a very familiar square. The serial killer versus the empath in Kirby Plaza. Sylar saw the future and painted it, but must have gotten too emotional at the vision and destroyed the other image of Boy Wonder upon realization that they will be fighting. Sylar and Peter are both power sponges, sucking up the abilities of those around them. Both have acquired multiple special powers over the last six months. Elle's not sure which abilities they now possess, but knows that it would be a battle of epic proportions. Does their dual end with a glorious, big boom?

Elle glances to the slide and notices that behind a large canvas, there is a depiction of an eye the color of cold spring skies that is all too familiar. Elle unconsciously frowns as she makes her way towards the new discovery. Small hands lift the canvas to reveal the hidden image of a blond agent peering through a cell window. A fake smile etched on her face, her eyes are glazed over. She's drawing invisible hearts on the glass barrier with perfectly manicured nails. Elle can practically hear the dark music that filled her head that night she first discovered Sylar in Level Five. Looks like the precog is a peeping tom, watching Elle's most intimate moments with her favorite serial killer.

Paranoid thoughts are burning to overflow her psyche. Just how many paintings did the artist create that captured her? How long has he been following her tracks? Who else has seen these images?

She begins to inspect every image carefully. In some paintings, Elle is depicted in the backdrop, hidden in the shadows except for a faint glow of blue, electrical eyes. In others, Elle is the central focus. Paintings, charcoal drawings, and pencil sketches reveal Elle's recent activities within the last six months. Sure, Isaac successfully captured her stunning natural features and Elle is even more impressed by his talent of artistically portraying her dark psychotic beast within those cold, empty blue eyes.

There is one painting is different from the rest. Special. Blue dominates the entire canvas, a brilliant mixture of all shades and hints of the color swirl together. A hazy figure is centered, arms spread out, legs together, hovering, almost in a heavenly crucifixion pose. The body is made completely out of pure, glorious energy. Electricity. Elle stares at the image for what seems like eternity. She hesitantly brings a single finger to touch the image, the wet paint is still cool to the touch. Blue slowly drips down her hand. Is this supposed to be her? Is she being depicted in a state of losing control, being consumed by her own ability? The color palette and style is similar to the image of the Kirby Plaza painting. The watchmaker's handiwork.

Is this some sort of sick joke?

Sylar's trying to manipulate her, just like all the others. She unconsciously bares her white teeth and a low, feral growl rumbles in her throat. Violently grabs the canvas and throws it onto the floor.

Her eyes move to another image, hidden behind a pile of canvases. She tosses the other paintings aside and reveals an older art piece that is covered in dust. This particular one shows Elle on the Deveaux rooftop, energy leaking at of her eyes. She's depicted in her normal overly confident pose, hands playfully on her hips, a half smirk on her face. The agent is shown wearing a black expensive designer suit over a deep blue collared shirt. The exact outfit that she's wearing now.

Elle doesn't believe in coincidences. Is Isaac giving her a secret message, a clue? Only one way to find out…

Elle gathers up all of the images of her, throws them in a pile over the dead body, sparks the canvases, and watches as the images burn bright. She can't have all of this evidence laying around. Leaves before the last pictures are destroyed, not caring whether or not the flames consume the entire room and burn down the apartment complex.

Elle is surprised when she finds herself at her destination, arriving faster than she had anticipated. She hasn't been mindful of her surroundings as she traveled through the city in a whirlwind storm, thunder and lightning practically trailing behind her body. Elle's been too caught up in her head, racing thoughts centering on what the pretty pictures mean and how she's going to stop the bomb as well as fantasies of blood, sex, and pain. Elle takes a deep breath as she walks into the grandiose lobby, focusing her mind and energy on the here and now. The hunter cannot be distracted. She kills the man behind the desk instantly and without a second thought.

The elevator smells of copper and cigars, the sides of the metal cage are scratched and thumb-smudged. Elle drums her fingers against the pistolgrip as the cage slows with a gradual hiss. As always, it came to a full stop with a violent jolt, but she is ready for it. Before the elevator doors slowly creek open, Elle already has a large ball of electricity between her fingertips, energy swirling within her core and itching to be released.

There are no lights on within the penthouse, though the rooms are softly illuminated from the Manhattan skyline. Elle walks slowly and cautiously through the rooms, her mind fixated on the roof deck. Without warning, a sudden flare of white light fills the empty halls. So bright, it is blinding. Elle pauses momentarily at the unexpected change, but doesn't squint her eyes. She's used to bright sparks. The light dims back for a few seconds and then turns a brilliant white again. The source is coming from outside, the balcony. Elle knows that she is no longer alone.

The agent quickly and silently moves towards the location of her target.

She hisses in a sharp breath at the initial sight of him.

No matter how close two people are, an infinite distance separates them.

Sylar stands on the ledge of the balcony, his back facing her. He is cloaked in all black and gray, matching the dark night sky. His hands are up near his face, he tenses slightly in concentration before brilliant, bright yellow and white energy surges from his fingertips. She watches him, her eyes blank but steady, intense, and neutral at the same time.

"Boom." He growls in amusement to himself, she can practically hear his smile in that one word.

Sylar has stolen Ted's ability of nuclear radiation. He is the bomb. One thing that Elle has learned about the serial killer is that he keeps pulling new rabbits out of his hat. Big, carnivorous bunnies that'll eat your eyeballs if you're not paying attention.

Elle is poised and ready to kill, the excitement is perfectly etched across her face. She can be the superhero that Daddy needs and stop the bomb right here and now. Is this what Isaac Mendez predicted? The pupils of her eyes dilate so large, her normally blue eyes are now perfect black orbs. Her heart beats unnaturally fast, pounding so loud throughout her body the sound is almost deafening within her own ears. Electricity surges through every neuron of her brain, spinal cord, and body. The internal voltages heightens to the maximum potential, she can almost taste the boiling hot energy within her mouth.

Sylar's body stills suddenly, sensing her presence. Without turning around, he welcomes his guest with a deep growl that makes the hairs on her neck stand and the dark beast within her psyche screams a high and wordless sound.

His voice is playful, aggressive, and powerful all rolled into one.

"You're late."


	8. Chapter 8

"You're late."

Elle's internal, psychotic beast screams a high pitch, wordless sound that echoes within her consciousness. Every muscle tenses in her body in response to his voice. The voltage of her ability jumps to overload her system, she can practically taste the sparks in her mouth.

Sylar turns his head to the side, his profile sharply defined from the illuminating white hot energy booming from his fingers. Elle briefly wonders what ability he's picked up that allowed him to spot her so easily. Or maybe, it was just his natural predatory instincts.

After a long, silent moment that seemed to last an eternity, chocolate orbs slowly slide directly to where Elle is hidden in the shadows.

Her lips unconsciously twitch to the side. Elle pushes her petite body up from the crouched position. The Company agent confidently stalks towards her target, hips swaying seductively. Electricity flows behind her dance. She savors each step closer to her target.

"Miss me?" Elle taunts as she enters into the light.

Sylar's lips curl back in disgust, a silent snarl in response to her show of overconfidence. His arms are to his side, trembling ever so slightly. Anger practically vibrating in waves from his skin.

"What do you want?" He growls, ignoring her question.

"You, silly. I thought you'd already pick up on that, on account of the pretty pictures you've painted." Elle coos as she slowly begins to pace back and forth in front of him, never breaking eye contact. Her internal beast purrs, eager and hungry. "One live body, brains still intact. Gonna stop the bomb and be the hero by bringing you in."

"Hero." He rolls the word slowly around his mouth, testing it out as if it was foreign.

Elle knows that her eyes were the color of spring skies, that warm pale blue that still manages to look cold. Her face is pleasant, her eyes neutral and watching everything he did. She watches everything impassively, as if everything meant nothing to her. She's spent her entire life waiting for someone to interest her, and until now, people just didn't.

Elle brings both her hands into the shape of guns. Blue energy jumps across her skin in anticipation.

"Nobody wants to hurt you, we just want to talk." The practiced line slips out of her mouth, the memorized dialogue that she gives to all of the big bad specials right before she drags them to their cells.

Sylar makes a face like he knows she's lying.

Elle flashes perfect white teeth.

"Except I do hurt people. I guess it's the way I'm wired." Her eyes sparkle blue with her power as she further taunts the prey, voice sing-songy and childish. "You'll never meet anyone as special as me."

Sylar looks into those sky blue eyes, shining with humor, and feels the threat. The words are subtle, the power that emanated from her is not. The power climbs over Sylar's skin, raising the hairs on his body, like insects crawling, that faint buzz of electric current. Sylar can breathe in her power, coke on it.

Elle smiles widely, but her eyes do not sparkle anymore. Games are over, Elle doesn't have to pretend to be normal, so she doesn't try. Sylar stares into her eyes, and finds nothing.

Without any warning, Elle knocks Sylar over with a large bolt of electricity, sending him down to the ground. Onto his knees, like all of her victims. Elle lives to make the powerful ones weak. And right now, she has the scariest, meanest special on the floor beneath her. He coughs up blood, wipes his hand across his mouth. The sticky metallic liquid is smeared across his chin. The sight make her nipples harden, pulse speed up.

"Stings like a bitch, doesn't it?" The firecracker laughs coldly as she creates a dangerous ball of electricity, energy snapping loudly back and forth between the palms of her hands. The internal voltage within her core continues to build, until Elle is confident that she can't contain all of it for much longer.

Sylar's eyes widen ever so slightly at Elle's little display of power.

Elle stares down at her soon to be victim, very aware of the small changes in him. She raises a delicate eyebrow and speaks slowly, full of wonder, "You're afraid of me, just like all the others."

Fear means control. It means that Sylar is controllable. Elle's heart swells at the idea of power over him. She snorts a satisfied sound.

Sylar slowly stands, bringing up both hands to his sides as the nuclear energy begins to radiate brightly. "You should be the one afraid of me."

Elle can feel the radiation pulsating against her skin, hot and burning.

"Afraid? Please. Just because you can steal powers and go boom?" Elle lifts her head defiantly, "I'm not afraid of anything."

You can't be afraid if you can't feel anything.

Her hand moves in an unnaturally fast blur. Sylar gasps in surprise. Blood pours in a bright red flood down his chest. It splatters on the floor, like rain. The sticky fluid covers her hand and the sharp silver knife between her fingers. Her mouth parts softly at the mark she's given him, a ghost of a real smile beginning to peak on the edges of her lips, that close, canary-eating grin of hers.

Sylar raises his hand up, pushes Elle telekinetically into the air. For a split second, Elle thinks that he is going to throw her over the edge to tumble thirty stories to her death. Most people would feel panicked, but Elle simply is numb, empty. Instead of being hurdled over the building, her body shifts direction mid-air. With his mind, Sylar slams Elle into the red brick wall, knocking the wind out of her. Her body crumples to the floor like a broken rag doll. For a moment, her vision is blurred and all Elle can see is a white nothingness.

The pain fills her up, a rush better than any drug.

A full throated sound bubbles uncontrollably from her lips from the pure delight.

He's standing inches in front of her, his eyes narrowing at the sound of her laughter. Elle continues to laugh as she secretly begins to build up electricity in her core, slowly collecting enough power to turn him into dust with a single blast. The energy hums softly across her skin, the beast waiting oh so patiently to strike. Almost…

Emotions flow rapidly across his face, like clouds passing over the sun, one right after another. Anger. Overconfidence. Lust. Sadness. Frustration.

She feels the dark, psychotic beast fill her eyes. That cold part of her where there was nothing but static and silence. Elle watches him look into her face and see the emptiness.

He lifts her from the floor with his telekinesis, bringing her up eye level.

Her eyes leak sparking blue electricity, the power waiting to break free from beneath the surface.

Sylar leans in and whispers into her ear, his breath cold against her skin. "I hate you."

Before Elle has a chance to respond with a witty comment or a blast of electricity, his full lips crash into her like heat. He kisses her roughly enough to bruise unless she opens her mouth. Elle closes her eyes and takes him in. He kisses her like he was tasting her, as if he'd reach into her mouth with his tongue and his lips and pull her inside out. His large, cold hands cup her face and then slowly slide behind her head into the warmth of her hair.

Something inside of her consciousness clicks open.

Elle wants him. She wants him so badly she can't think about anything but the feel of him against her. Her skin aches to be touched, body hurting with a need that she's never known. Her hands move to push back his gray coat, she needs to feel his skin.

Sylar makes a sound that was almost a growl, low and persistent. Eagerness did not begin to describe that sound in the man's throat, vibrating across her lips. The sound makes her body respond, tightening in warm pleasure.

Elle loses her tightly wound control.

She breaks the kiss and roughly grabs his black shirt, tearing it off into pieces. He watches her with a strange look on his face as she unwraps her favorite prize. Elle is impatient, needs to feel his skin against her own. She rubs her cheek against his chest, across the knife wound she had only momentarily inflected upon him. The blood from the deep cut flows along her skin. It wasn't so much the feel of the blood as the smell of it. Hot, sweet, flatly metallic, and underneath, the faint scent of fear.

Elle plunges her fingers into the wound, sending a playful jolt of electricity into his body. Sylar moans in response, tries to push her off, but it only heightens her fascination. She watches in awe as the blood flows slowly from his chest. For a moment, she has the fantasy of ripping out his heart and watching the dark blood and life pour out of him until all that is left is an empty shell. Instead, she slowly licks the damage, softly and gently like a cat. Her hands unconsciously move to fumble with his belt, stripping off the remainder of his clothes. Closing her eyes, she takes her time tasting his skin, sweat, and blood, taking in all of him with her tongue.

He tastes like power.

Sylar's hands are playing tentatively with her blond hair, the gesture seems painfully familiar.

The petite special stands on her toes, moves her mouth to his collar bone, across his shoulders, and neck. She continues to lick along his skin, until she finds the spot she's looking for. Her teeth come down in a quick sharpness. Elle sighs deeply with satisfaction as she gathers his flesh into her mouth and breaks the skin, blood filling her mouth. Sylar cries out, hands clenching into fists and yanking her head back by her hair.

Elle's body tingles in excitement at the sight of what she's done. She's left a perfect mark on his skin. She smiles lazily, her eyes glazed over.

A blast of energy knocks Sylar down to the ground.

Elle slips out of her clothing in liquid speed, never moving her eyes away from the target. Sylar raises an eyebrow and makes a surprised sound from his throat. Elle has never felt uncomfortable or embarrassed stripping down.

In a blur of speed, Sylar's hands lift up her body and slam her exposed back against the cold, brick wall, bringing a moan from her lips. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist and she can feel him eager and ready against her skin. Elle's heart is beating so fast it hurt, pounding in her throat like a trapped thing.

Being close to Sylar was like being close with a wild beast. You could pet it and it seemed to like you, but you knew deep down that if it ever got hungry enough, or angry enough, it would kill you. Kill you and eat the flesh from your bones. The morbid thought excites Elle. Maybe he'll kill her, maybe she'll kill him. Elle has always walked a very fine line between pleasure and pain.

She's waited a long time for this moment.

Sylar pushes his way deep inside of her and she welcomes him hungrily. He's not gentle or soft. There is no love in what they are doing. Simply mating between superior, dominant beasts. He pounds himself into her until all Elle can hear is the sound of flesh hitting against flesh.

He fills her up and makes her feel ...alive.

Although she has no memory of being with Sylar, her body remembers him. It is not the first time they have danced before.

Elle's finger nails dig sharply into his shoulders and concurrently shoots a bolt of electricity into his skin. Blood and burnt flesh, a gesture to remind him who is really in control. He cries out above her, and his body loses that practiced rhythm and suddenly he fucks her as hard and as fast as he can.

Elle has always been the outsider, the lone wolf... but now... now she finally connects with someone. A union formed on blood, pain, and sex.

Elle can feel the orgasm growing. Filling her up like warm water in a cup, slowly from bottom up. It flows over her in small, vibrating spasms.

Something opens inside of Elle. A warm, rush of power. It spills over her, into her. The electric current raises every hair on her body. For one shining moment, every molecule in her body loses control and all Elle can see is blinding, blue energy.

Sylar screams out in both pleasure and pain.

They collapse onto the ground in exhaustion, breathing heavily.

For a long moment, all she can hear is the loud beating of her own heart in her ears.

Elle slowly nuzzles her lips and cheek against the outline of his jaw, marking Sylar with her scent like a leopard.

Sylar smiles in response and he gently runs his hands through her long, blond hair. His voice is soft and holds a strange tone, "My little electric firefly."

Elle props her head up with her hands. The laughter seeps out of her eyes, her lips, her face, until she stares at him with neutral, predator eyes.

Her voice is a cold, emotionless whisper, "Are you going to blow up the city?"

Sylar avoids her gaze and instead touches her hand, a tentative play of fingers. With his telekinesis, he brings her back down to the ground next to him. He slowly and hesitantly traces his finger over her skin, a light, exploring touch.

Sylar's eyebrows furrow in deep concentration and he opens his mouth and closes it twice before he is able to speak.

"You'll find out tonight." He replies cryptically.

Elle knows that he can feel her silent smile against his skin.


	9. Chapter 9

The air has changed. Elle feels the start of a headache beginning to build, alerting her to the dampness in the atmosphere. A storm is coming. Rain will certainly begin in the distance.

Thick, dark clouds roll fast across the sky, moving closer and closer to meet her. The element looks like a stampede of wild, black horses escaping some unknown danger. The clouds consume the bright stars and glowing moonlight, leaving visible only the swirl of eerie gray, obsidian black, and midnight blue.

A familiar low rumble fills her ears, the sound waves reflecting and echoing off the water and skyscrapers. The rhythm beats softly at first, pulsating with gentle, slow hums.

The noise in the sky becomes more vibrant, building into something extraordinary.

Internal energy surges from head to toe, spreading goose bumps across her naked body at the growing anticipation of what will come next.

Her body reacts instantly to the first lightning flash in the distance, illuminating the stormy sky. Pupils dilate so large her eyes are black, nipples harden, and her breath comes out in a soft sigh.

When it comes to deadly weather, tornadoes and hurricanes get all the publicity, but lightning is actually the worst threat, killing more people on average every year than tornadoes and hurricanes combined. And add Elle into the mix, the yearly death count doubles in number. Elle loves her beautiful blue sparks, from the tiny, playful shocks to the volts that leaves her targets into pathetic gray ashes.

The sky is filled with nature's deadly and unpredictable fireworks. The lightning dance is the best show in town. To Elle, nothing else quite compares to the natural phenomenon. Energy moves from within each cloud, illuminating the unique formations. Concurrently, the blue lightning flows from one cloud to another, connecting the dancing stampede of blackness and reinforcing the thunderous storm as an ominous singular beauty. And then, as if nothing could get better, the bright power moves away from the sky to meet the ground. Connecting with lightning rods on sky scrapers, sparking streetlights, grazing the ocean waters, and maybe, just maybe, taking a human life. Elle can feel her own electricity surging between her every nerve at the morbid thought.

The thunder snaps sharp and violent, like the screams of a feral cat celebrating after the kill. The energy dance moves directly above her. With each flash, the gray clouds transform into beautiful mixtures of yellow, purple, and blue. The hairs on her arms stand in attention. Her lips unconsciously twitch to a half smile at every beautiful display of energy; eyes sparkling like it was the first show she has ever seen.

Snap.

Crackle.

Pop.

Electrical charges build hot within her, almost to the point of her blood boiling. If she allows it, Elle would open herself up to the powerful element and welcome the energy from the sky into her own essence. It would be a fitting death.

Elle senses the slightest movement next to her. For just a moment, she forgot that she wasn't alone. She slowly rolls her naked body onto her side, eyes narrowing at the dangerous figure that lay beside to her.

Sylar is silently staring at her with a strange expression across his face.

Cerulean electricity unconsciously flashes from her eyes.

Irritated that he has interrupted her special moment, Elle snaps coldly, "What?"

The former watchmaker lifts up a thick eyebrow, but remains silent.

Elle slowly moves into a seated position, gathering her bare lily white arms and legs together around her body. She rests her head upon her knees and she looks at him, really looks at him.

Sylar has remained still the entire time, as if afraid that any movement would provoke her. And yet, he appears overly confident, relaxed and comfortable at the same time lying naked on the dirty cement floor. He still has that foreign look etched into his face.

Paranoia begins to burn behind her eyes. "What do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything." The serial killer replies slowly, his deep voice barely audible over the loud storm.

He moves one hand from the concrete floor to hover above her bare skin. Warmth radiates from his body. Sylar holds his fingers out so close and almost touching, and then abruptly drops his hand back to the floor. Elle furrows her eyebrows, confused and irritated by the gesture.

Thunder shakes the ancient windows of the green house next to them.

Elle can feel electricity building underneath her skin, itching to be released. Elle is a professional liar. Lies every time she smiles. The electrical agent can't quite put her finger on how she knows that Sylar is manipulating her, but deep down the beast instinctively knows.

The petite special pushes up from the ground violently and moves as far away from him as the small deck can allow. She grabs the pieces of clothing off of the floor and quickly dresses herself, never taking her eyes off of the serial killer.

"Lies are ugly things, Sylar." Elle growls, allowing the darkness to come to the surface.

Lightning surges loud and clear, one ribbon smashes down onto a metal chair on the deck twenty feet away from the evolved humans. The chair sparks white and tumbles over. The smell of burning metal is thick in the air. Sylar eyes widen for a second at the closeness of the lightning. The electrical agent isn't fazed by experience, she instead keeps her focus rather on the dangerous man in front of her.

Elle mutters to herself, the beast and psychosis urging to take over completely, "Cross your heart, hope to die, a thousand needles in your eye."

"Elle, it's just…" Sylar sighs as he begins to sit up. He struggles to find the right words. "You're broken… I can fix it… you. I can fix you."

Elle freezes completely. They stay staring at each other in silence. Silence, not of the ear, but sensation of feeling, silence more profound than soundlessness.

The beast takes over for a moment, darkening blue eyes into something inhuman. Elle contemplates tearing his throat out for such blasphemy. Instead, a forced, empty smile spreads across her face, the mask firmly back in place. Elle breaks the silence with her strange, childish laughter.

"Broken?" Elle giggles, twirling around as her blue hot power snaps around her dance, "Obviously, I'm just fine, thank you very much."

Elle moves around the penthouse rooftop, blue streams of power flowing out from her finger tips like she was a child on four of July with a hot sparkler. She dances to the internal, dark tune within her mind while the overhead lightning illuminates her body. Elle performs her routine with gentle, fluid movements akin to ballerina perfection, ignoring Sylar as if he were some silly, useless prop on her grand stage of psychosis. Elle puts on the playful, confident mask, but she's really just a hallow shell.

Sylar ignores her act, appears deep in thought as he gathers his clothing and dresses himself.

"I have the talent for understanding the way things work, how the intricate parts fit together. It is my…gift." Sylar continues, his voice very matter-of-fact, as he pulls a gray t-shirt over his head.

"And you, my little electric firefly, are broken."

"Stop calling me that." Elle replies automatically, her eyes flash bright blue.

He begins to walk toward her, closing the distance. His voice is soft with a sad undertone, "They've taken so much from you, Elle. Your memories, your freedom."

Elle stops mid-dance. She turns away from him then, for some reason she can't meet his eyes. Elle walks to the edge of the building, looking out into the vastness of the sky. Lightning continues to flash above them. She feels so… numb. His words should bring up anger, resentment, anything. But Elle only feels that growing dark pit in her chest. Emptiness.

"And now I can see that they've gone another level. Manipulated what you love best, your ability. Rip you of your control."

"Control?" Elle snorts, "Funny speech, coming from a psychopathic serial killer."

Sylar is suddenly behind her, encircling his arms around her petite frame. She momentarily rests her head against his chest. He pulls her tighter to him, painfully close. Sylar possessively holds onto her last she was the only thing in the world.

He whispers into her ear, "I've seen pieces of it, a split second of the purity of your ability only moments ago."

"When we fucked, you mean? Some people see stars when they orgasm, never thought that you'd be one of those pathetic romantic types." She snaps sarcastically as she violently pushes away from him, struggling to get out of his embrace.

"Not just then, but when I took the Issac's ability." Sylar explains, gently touching his hand on her chin forcing her to look back up at him. His voice held an undercurrent of wonder and pride. "I painted you."

Elle remembers the one painting in the precog's loft that was different from the rest. Special. Blue dominated the entire canvas, a brilliant mixture of all shades and hints of the color swirl together.

She slaps his hand away.

"I don't give a damn about your pretty picture. You obviously saw it wrong. Precogs always misinterpret. Almost as accurate as daily horoscopes." Blue sparks snaps hot between her fingers. The beast wants to come out.

"Your body knows it, your mind has forgotten." He sounds so confident. "I can help--"

Elle is growing tired of his speech.

"Really? Did I ask for help? Maybe I like the way things are." Elle growls. "Besides, why would you help someone you hate, huh?" She throws his words back at him.

Sylar looks away then, Elle wonders what emotions are boiling underneath his skin.

Elle slowly begins to stalk around him, heels clicking sharp and dangerous. "So, what, you've dropped your serial killing ways and now have a hero-complex and a rescue fantasy? You got superglue for super fucked up specials? Been there, done that. All the Company's doctors and all the Company's shrinks, couldn't put Elle back together again."

"Please, I---" He starts, and Elle cuts him off.

"I don't get it." She crosses her arms, "Jokes always go over my head."

Sylar raises an eyebrow, confused by her statement.

"Why does the psychopathic serial killer want to fix the sociopath?"

"Elle…" He looks up, face raw and vulnerable. He has trouble finding the words. "It's…complicated. You have to trust me. Your control is ---"

Something snaps inside of her at his pleading. Elle lashes out, interrupting his speech and throws large electrical blasts at him, over and over and over. Doesn't care if she burns him into ashes. Sylar responds, gripping her tiny body with his telekinesis and smashes her into the brick wall, shackling her hands down with his mind.

"I am in complete control!" She screams at him over the deafening sounds of thunder and lightning. Elle doesn't know what exactly she is referring to in that statement.

The first drop of water falls from the sky. Elle is aware of its arrival before the element touches the ground. Half a second later and they both are covered in water. All she can hear is the loud down pour of her liquid enemy, her Achilles' heel. Sylar releases her from his mind and she attempts to try to find cover from the water…but it's too late.

The element that is paired with lightning ironically forces her own special ability to backfire. She doesn't even try to hold back her energy, it's pointless really. The more she tries to silence her internal energy, the stronger the urge is to release. The first spark stings, the second brings a moan and gasp from her lips, and she momentarily loses her sight and stumbles from the third spark. The flood gates release, her energy snaps around wild and bright. The petite special is thrown onto the ground by her own special ability, shaking in convulsions like an epileptic. The experience only heightens her agitation, increasing the internal voltage her ability.

The smell of smoke fills her nostrils. She's probably burnt her delicate porcelain skin and fried her insides again. But it's part of the package deal. Pleasure and pain. It's true what they say…a fine line between pleasure and pain. She laughs while her body flails around the ground. At least she's feeling something. The experience is welcomed after so much numb, static nothingness. Pleasure and pain only comes from killing, fucking, or causing harm to herself or others. She is a sadistic and masochistic freak.

Sylar moves through the veil of rain, standing above her vulnerable form on the floor. His eyes move to her head, scanning the delicate skin of her forehead. She wonders if he hears the sounds of a watch ticking.

The serial killer smiles down at her, a dangerous flash of whiteness. His eyes darken as his own personal monster comes out to play. "Control, huh?"

"Yeah." She manages to force out through jittering teeth. "Better control…than you. You're the one who's fucked up… need…fixing."

Elle brings herself to her knees, still shaking from the self inflicting pain. She spits out blood, wipes her fist across her face and stares him down. "I don't need your help. Hell, even if I did, I wouldn't take it."

Sylar ignores her words, instead circles around her slowly. Hunger fills his eyes.

"Fine." Sylar's voice turns sinister, matching the rumbling of the sky, "If you don't want to find your true power, then maybe I'll just take it."

He motions his hand into a familiar gesture that she's seen him use on other specials. It forces her body, mind, and dark beast to instinctively go into survival mode. She screams like a cornered wild animal and lashes out.

Lightning snaps wildly behind her, bolts filling the entire skyline. So bright that it was blinding.

Electricity bubbles through her body, burning her throat and she screams wildly as her own power enters a level she's never remembered. The human body no longer holds her back, her skin breaks open and she finally releases all of the electricity built up over the years.

Elle turns, slowly, streaming images of herself as she moves, frozen moments, each of her captured in a fraction of a second, every tiny movement lasting for an infinite period. The images that reach her mind make no sense: it is like seeing the world through the multifaceted jeweled eyes of a dragonfly, but each facet sees something completely different, and she is unable to combine the things that she is seeing, or thinks she is seeing, into a whole that makes any sense.

There is one, unifying element in the chaos.

Blue. There is so much blue.

Pure, brilliant energy. Smoldering, burning, she flares hot, bright and beautiful. Elle has left her body, shred away the last drop of her previous life, and all that is left is her true self. Erratic, raw, consuming power.

Elle is here, on the rooftop, and yet at the same time, she is everywhere. The experience is overwhelming. She simply is just a passenger on this strange power surging rollercoaster. Elle is the electrical energy channeling through the vibrant current of the air within the thunderstorm. Hell, she is the lightning in the sky.

She's not only in the sky but in the ground as well, winding her way through all of the machines, circuits, and wires. Elle was in a million locations at once, connected to every object powered by electricity. She is the eyes of the New York City.

The journey is exhilarating.

Elle takes in a slow breath, gathering herself back together on the rooftop.

"That was…weird." She can't find the right words to describe her experience. It was more of a sacred awakening. Metamorphosis. Elle has left her shell to spread her wings. She has gathered up all of the broken pieces, all of the lies and pain, and transformed herself into something stronger.

Sylar is looking at her with so much intensity.

"I wish you could see what I am seeing." His voice is like honey. "You look like a god."

Elle casually glances down at her hands, surprised by her appearance. Glowing, almost ethereal. She is pure blue electrical energy. Elle concentrates hard and watches her skin knits itself back together again.

Elle's not sure if she believes in a higher power, but what she knew at that moment was that she wasn't human. Not a god, or human, but something else entirely. Something…extraordinary.

"Come with me." Sylar orders, hand stretched out. Not a question, but more of a demand.

Elle looks at his hand and hesitates.

This is what she wants, isn't it? To be free to be who she truly is. She can run wild, taking whatever she wants, killing whoever she wants.

She is a sociopathic agent. He is a psychopathic serial killer. Elle had secretly hoped that he'd be just like her. A heartless monster with no regrets. But…he wasn't what she expected. They were opposite sides of the same coin. Sylar was not dead inside, but rather ruled by his powerful emotional states. All Elle felt was pleasure or pain, or sometimes both. But most of the time she felt nothing. Elle lacked the capacity to feel, her emotions were a great roaring silence. She anticipated that somehow, by finding someone just as twisted and fucked up as she was that she wouldn't be alone and the numb bottomless hole in her chest would finally be relieved.

After tonight's events, Elle is stronger, more powerful than she's ever known. Sylar was the key to unlocking the stolen memories of the full potential of her ability. But even with the energy boost, nothing really changed. Elle is just as alone, just as empty as before. It's not like she expected a happily ever after ending.

"Elle?" Sylar interrupts her stream of consciousness. She cocks her head to the side and studies the man in front of her. Trails her eyes across his body, memorizing every tiny detail as if he was the last thing she'd ever see.

Sylar isn't like the usual pathetic creatures that surround her in this strange life. He's different, special. A dominant lion in the land of sheep. The stuff of nightmares. Her dark prince.

But it wasn't enough.

Elle was, after all, just a Company girl. Being an agent is a central part of her identity, gives her purpose. She was bred to be an agent. Daddy's ruthless, cold killer. She prided the nickname that the other agents, doctors, and prisoners at the Company call her. The Executioner. It was who she is, all she's ever known. A leopard cannot change her spots.

The rules, structure, and routine help control the darkness. The idea of wandering out into that wild, confusing world holds her captive at the Company. Elle lacks the ability to fully comprehend social interactions and emotions. Once she thinks she understands, the rules change. This lack of insight to the human experience makes her feel like she doesn't have control. Terrorizing the prisoners and meticulously planning missions gives her a sense of empowerment. The Company was Elle's personal sanctuary. It made sense. Without the Company, she would be…lost. Sometimes the Company sets her teeth on edge, but most of the time it helps control the chaos, that darkness within her.

She moves her eyes away from the dangerous predator in front of her to inspect the sky carefully. The glowing luminance of the moon is peaking through the storm. It's almost midnight. She's supposed to be at the hospital. Daddy's last orders.

Elle takes in a sharp breath, shakes her head back and forth. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She's been such an idiot. Allowed her primal needs to cloud her judgment and compromise the mission. Sure, she tends to bend the rules and interpret orders in her own unique, psychotic way. But she's taken it too far this time.

Peter is the key. Sylar is…insignificant. Just a distraction from the larger chess game.

"No." She looks away, voice surprisingly soft. "I… can't."

Sylar's face crumples for a moment, and there was something in his eyes, a pain, a loss, as deep as the ocean, as wide as the sea, and then he is consumed by rage.

Elle turns her back on him.

Sylar lashes out, but Elle is ready. Without any regrets, she immediately merges herself with the electrical current in the storm. The evolved human doesn't know how she is able to utilize her new found potential so easily, but it just happens like she's done it a thousand times. And maybe she has in the empty holes in her memory. Elle moves effortlessly through the clouds towards her true mission.

"Elle!" She hears his voice echoing in the distance.

Elle doesn't look back. She's made her decision. Elle knows deep down that he won't come after her. Sylar is on a mission himself. Besides, she's running late for a very important date.

Elle is gonna save the world, after all.

Once she touches the ground, the dark sky clears immediately, as if someone hit a switch. The stars sparkle once more, the illuminating crescent moon fills the sky. Elle takes in a slow, deep breath. Her body and mind feels…unnatural. The normally surging electricity that runs through every vein, every neuron has come to an abrupt silence.

He is here, as if they knew this would happen all along. Fucking precogs.

Elle doesn't even turn around to meet the Haitian in the face. It's pointless, really. She is now powerless. Weak. Human.

"You're going to take it away again." It wasn't a question. "All of it."

"Yes." The Haitian replies, and Elle turns to meet his warm eyes, surprised that the man has spoken. But she knows she won't remember this moment. Perhaps he's always spoken to her, right before he wipes her mind clean.

He glides up besides her, a sad look upon his face. He touches her chin gently, "It is for the best."

Elle closes her eyes, she doesn't fight back as he places his hands across her forehead. It's an abusive cycle, really. She can't escape it, merely accepts her fate. She'll go back to being a good daughter, a good agent.

Things were so much simpler before she met the watchmaker.

 

Epilogue.

Elle knows she can't get distracted.

Daddy has given her the duty to guard the most dangerous and powerful evolved human. Pretty Peter Petrelli. The super special empath. He absorbs other's abilities merely by being in close proximity.

Over the past six months, the man has acquired a number of special powers. Mind Control. Time travel. Precognition. Teleportation. Super human strength. Telekinesis. Flight. Healing. Invisibility. Nuclear Radiation. And probably a dozen other abilities.

And on top of all of this, he can do what Elle can do. Stole her beautiful blue sparks. Elle doesn't like to share.

Both Daddy and Elle manipulated the youngest Petrelli to become a willing prisoner within the Company walls. She's been given the opportunity to make sure that he is under control, and Elle loves control.

Elle glances down at the cold, metal scissors resting between her small hands. She's on her way to cut his long hair, but the dark beast would rather do more damaging things to the power sponge with the sharps or her sparks. But…Daddy's orders were clear. She has to gain his trust, and giving into her beast's fantasies would surely scare him away. She'll have to be content with psychological manipulation. Pretty soon he'll be eating outta the palm of her hand and be performing tricks with a snap of her perfectly manicured fingers. He is now Elle's perfect, dangerous pet. By controlling the super duper special, well now, wouldn't that in fact make Elle the most powerful outta them all? Elle silently smiles to herself at the thought.

One would think that such an important task would keep her psychotic beast occupied.

But… Elle has always been attracted to chaos.

A stranger has unexpectedly entered her lair. He arrived the same night that she returned to the Company beaming brightly with her prize. In what little free time Elle has, she's tried to learn about the mystery man. She has heard whispers about him in the hallway. But all of the other agents silence their conversations when she approaches, which only confirms and further heightens her paranoia. Over the last twenty four hours, Elle has gathered some interesting gossip on the new prisoner. Psychopathic serial killer. Brain eater. Watch maker. Power thief.

Apparently, pretty Peter Petrelli and the mysterious special had battled the previous day. They had an old school Western style dual. All she really knows is that the fight ended in a glorious, nuclear explosion in the sky. Silly specials, causing scenes and drawing attention to themselves. Don't they know the Company puts you in a cell and throws away the key? And when prisoners need to be punished, the higher ups send in the Executioner to do the dirty work. And Elle loves that part of her job the most.

Elle rubs her forehead with her fingers gently. A headache buzzes continuously behind her eyes. The pain is irritating. One of the nasty side effects of memory loss. Elle doesn't bother to ask what she did this time. She won't get an answer, never does. Just another gapping hole to add to her extensive collection.

Elle narrows her eyes, surprised by the writing on the doors. Instead of finding herself in front of the empath's cell, Elle has unconsciously arrived at the trauma unit.

The doors swing open in a loud whoosh, and Elle suddenly catches a glimpse of the unnamed man. He's strapped down to a hospital gurney surrounded by a number of agents, specials, and doctors. The body is connected to IVs, an oxygen mask, and monitors beeping noises and flashing bright colors. Those around him are frantic, busy holding his broken body together and screaming orders at one another. They don't even notice her standing there in the darkness, secreting watching his world from afar. The man's chest lifts up violently while his arms and legs spasms. He's barely conscious. And covered in so much blood.

Hot, sticky, messy blood.

Elle's eyes become glazed over. She's back into her own inner world, humming a strange tune while dark, violent thoughts fill her mind. Images of pain, burning flesh, and blood darkens her consciousness. Fills her up and makes her feel alive….almost.

The prisoner screams out, a deep, thick roar that sends goose bumps down her spine. His eyes flutter open, and to her surprise and pure delight he spots her in the shadows.

Brown eyes interlock with blue.

Her lips twitch to a smile, his eyes narrow.

A shiny new toy.

~ Fin. ~


End file.
